Knight Errant
by Arrow Straight
Summary: The Sovereign has reclaimed her authority over Her Magical Realm, and Sir Harry Potter is her Magical Knight. The Death Eaters are dead, but their evil lives on after them. Here then are the chronicles of the further adventures of Sir Harry Potter as Knight Errant in Her Majesty's Magical Service. No pairings, but may change.
1. Chapter 1 Off Shift

Disclaimer: All rights to Harry Potter and the literary properties concerned are held by JK Rowling. This story is based on the story "Long Live The Queen" by offsides and is set in that universe by his kind permission to the community.

 **Chapter One Off Shift**

Tonks was in after a long shift that had led her down some of the seedier parts of Knockturn Alley. The parchment work on the arrest had been pretty straightforward. She was looking forward to a long hot bath, a glass of wine and some solid sleep, followed by an actual weekend off.

The desk man raised his hand as soon as he saw her. "Tonks. Sorry. DMLE wants to see you, his office."

 _Bloody hell. I almost made it._ She couldn't think of anything that she'd done right or wrong that would call for either a bouquet or a brickbat from the Director of Magical Law Enforcement in person.

Rufus Scrimgeor had moved on after his brief and unsuccessful foray into politics, and Kingsley Shacklebolt had the job now. They'd never been drinking buddies even when they'd both been in the Order of the Phoenix, but certainly he deserved the appointment. He asked nothing of his people that he didn't give himself, though that wasn't much consolation given the hours he kept. Well, speculating was not going to get it done. She headed over to Mahogany Row where the Director and the other seniors had their offices.

Appearances mattered, so she adjusted her hair to brown and her face and appearance to normal. As a Metamorphmagus, all of those things she could change at will. Useful for an Auror working undercover, and it had kept her alive as a member of the Order of the Phoenix.

The door was open and the lights were on, so the thin hope that he'd gone home went glimmering. She knocked on the door frame and waited.

"Ah, Tonks. Please come in and have a seat." That smooth deep baritone had more than a few women daydreaming. Tall, very dark and very handsome didn't hurt, either. He was one of the few people who hadn't needed to be told twice that she hated her first name of Nymphadora, which got him more points from Tonks.

He picked up a file folder out of the stacks of parchment cluttering his desk and handed it to her. "I'll ask you to read this, please, and tell me what you think."

She took it and opened it. It was a standard Confidential Informant report.

 _CI# 443. Report rated C2._

 _That's a little odd._ She remembered the system well enough.

Sources were rated A to E, and the reports themselves 1 to 5. A1 was as good as galleons, E5 was complete rubbish from a lying bastard. C meant that the source was middling reliable at best, but a 2 rating meant the report was about as good as you were going to get outside of an Auror's report or an interrogation under Veritaserum. A report graded higher than the source was unusual.

"Source reports that Death Eater sympathizers linked to the late Bellatrix Lestrange are preparing to take action against Sirius Orion Black, current Head of the House of Black. Method and timing unknown."

The report was signed Andrew Greengrass, Auror. Tonks pursed her lips and thought a bit before opening her mouth, always a good policy in the Boss's office. Greengrass was by reputation a competent man.

The Dark Lord and his marked followers had been taken down hard two years ago during what had become known as the Restoration when the Muggle … sorry, the non-Magical … Queen had taken very tangible steps to express her displeasure at the mis-governance of Magical Britain. Those who had questioned her authority to do so had found out just how disastrously wrong they were.

Bellatrix Lestrange had been a sadistic lunatic even by the standards of the Death Eaters. She was certainly dead of a sniper's bullet in the head, and a good thing too. How she could be plotting against anyone was certainly a puzzle. Greengrass had said "linked to", though. It was a little hard to say exactly what he might mean by that.

This was the sort of woolly thing that normally didn't make it this far up the food chain. Sirius Black's name on a report graded 2t changed that equation. Black had been one of the two people whose petition to the Sovereign had triggered the Restoration. Everyone knew that name of the other. Having harm befall him on DMLE's watch could result in said DMLE being called on the carpet in front of the Sovereign to explain why.

Albus Dumbledore had been there and by all accounts had not enjoyed it at all. He was retired and out of play, by Royal Command.

Tonks shrugged and decided to risk sounding dim. "That's not my beat, Sir. Could you give me a little background? Bellatrix Lestrange is quite definitely dead. How is there a credible threat here?"

Shacklebolt leaned back in his tall leather chair. "Well, all right. The marked Death Eaters were the inner circle. We suspect that at least some of them had their own networks of lower-level ... I believe the term is wannabes ... who were trying to work their way up to the inner circle. Unfortunately, we have no hard evidence or suspects to support an investigation."

"And now the inner circle is dead." Tonks replied. "Their smart move is to run and hide. I much doubt if loyalty to a cause is a concept to these people."

"These people aren't the brightest wands in the shop, Tonks." Shacklebolt replied. "We believe the Death Eaters had means of enforcing obedience - means that may have run past their own deaths."

Tonks thought about that. There were ways to do that, though past the death of the person casting that spell was a new wrinkle. "They would have to have submitted to that voluntarily, Sir."

"And that takes us back to these people not being the brightest wands in the shop." Shacklebolt replied reasonably.

Tonks was willing to grant him that. The Death Eaters had been very deep into very dark wizardry. Something like that was actually ... uncomfortably plausible. Given that, there was certainly cause for concern. The suspects would have been able to stay underground for two years, so they had at least some street smarts. Ruthlessness was a given.

"What would you like me to do, sir?" she asked carefully.

"I believe you have family ties with Sirius Black. He would more likely be receptive to hearing this from you. At least, he should be warned." Shacklebolt replied reasonably.

"I can do that, Sir." Tonks replied. "Who was the CI?"

"Mundungus Fletcher. I think you know him."

Tonks did, from her days in the Order. Kingsley did as well, she was sure. Petty criminal, coward, and ne'er-do-well. Albus Dumbledore's eyes and ears in the underbelly of the magical world. No great surprise that he had wound up as an informant.

"The rest of the family should also be warned, but I will leave that to your discretion. You've had a hard day, Tonks. I'll not take any more of it." He said, waving her a courteous dismissal and turning back to the work on his desk.

Tonks was out the door and down the hall before the penny dropped. _Smooth, Kingsley. Very smooth._

It was late in the evening when she arrived at the door of the House of Black. She was one of the very few people for whom that door was visible, far less accessible.

Sirius answered the door himself. "Tonks. Good to see you. Please come in and be welcome."

Kreacher the house elf brought tea. It was hot, strong and very welcome. "What brings you here, cousin?"

"I have some news, Sirius. Not very good news, I'm afraid. It concerns you and Harry."

Sirius held up his hand to stop her, and said to Kreacher, "Please ask my son to join us."

It took a couple of minutes before Sir Harry Potter came down the stairs and poured himself a cup of tea. "Hello, Tonks. Good to see you."

"Good to see you, Sir Harry. I wish the circumstances were better." Tonks replied, carefully. He was looking well, she thought. He and Sirius both had had some time of peace to recover from the tumultuous events of the Restoration.

She decided to get right to it. The news wouldn't get any better with age. "We have an informant report, deemed credible, that there is a group of Death Eater sympathizers who are planning action against you, Sirius. Mentioned by name as the Head of the House of Black. There are, unfortunately, no other details."

"Are you likely to get in any trouble for telling us this, Tonks?" was Harry's immediate question.

She shook her head. "No, this is authorized by DMLE personally."

"Is there an investigation going on?" Harry asked.

"Not that I was told about, and I think I would have been. The report is pretty vague. There's really nowhere to go, especially with the new rules." Tonks said. Those changes were something that Aurors lived with every day.

She held up her hand before Harry could speak. "I don't question the need for them. Merlin knows there were abuses enough before Her Majesty cleaned house. Does mean we can't go on a fishing expedition."

 _It's not all sweetness and light now, either. Corners get cut and sometimes you dance with the devil to get it done. Not the time or place for that conversation, or the company, either._ Tonks added mentally, then moved on.

He nodded. Sirius asked, "What do you recommend, Tonks?"

"I know you keep security here at 12 Grimmauld. I'd suggest that you review and update it, perhaps get someone in to do so. Don't go anywhere alone or without your wand. Apparate or go by Floo network if at all possible. If you have a regular pattern, haircut, pint at the local, change it. Keep your eyes open and if you see anything at all suspicious report it." Tonks replied, easily. Standard advice and good sense.

Sirius nodded, and she felt better. Unlike a lot of people, Sirius didn't need security explained to him. Staying alert was grained into the marrow of his bones by years on the run.

"Who was the source, Tonks?" Harry said, quietly. It wasn't a request.

"Mundungus Fletcher. He was … still is … a CI for Andrew Greengrass." Tonks replied at once.

Normally, divulging information like that to a 18 year old civilian would have got her in a world of trouble. Harry Potter was an ordinary 18 year old about as much as Albus Dumbledore was an ordinary schoolteacher. He was a civilian only in the sense that he was not an Auror.

Sir Harry James Potter, Knight Commander of the Victorian Order, was the personal Knight of the Queen. That was not just a title. That question, or any other from him, had the force of a Royal Command backed, if he so chose, by the Magic of the Realm. Aurors had rules, regulations and policy. Sir Harry had the authority to go anywhere, question anyone, and use any and all force required on Her Majesty's Service. There was a short list of people that Harry Potter would go to Hell and back for, and Sirius Black was at the top of that list.

 _Well, you got what you wanted, Kingsley. May you not regret it._ Tonks was far from sure that wish would be granted.

After he had graduated Hogwarts, Harry had been offered a position with the Crown Wizard's Office. He had turned it down. Then he had been invited to tea at Buckingham Palace, and he'd changed his mind. Tonks didn't blame him for wanting a quiet life, or for finding it hard to say no to the Queen.

"Tonks, I'm going to need your help on this." That wasn't a request, either.

She nodded. "I'll inform DMLE."

He cocked his head, clearly thinking out loud. "Fletcher tells the truth when he's more afraid of you than the people he's informing on. I think that's the case here, but I want a word with him myself to be sure. Checking for Imperius would be good, too."

Tonks nodded. "I'll have Greengrass set that up, sooner rather than later. Overt or covert?" Tonks didn't much care if Mundungus Fletcher showed up in Knockturn Alley with his throat cut, but that wasn't her decision.

"Covert. Right now he's our only lead." Harry replied. "I'll have the Crown Wizard's Office go through my back mail to see if there's anything that might be relevant. That will take some time. It's a long cast at a venture, but worth a try."

It took Tonks a couple of seconds to do the arithmancy. Boy Who Lived, personal Knight of the Queen, etc., etc. There was going to be a lot of mail, and a lot of it was going to be from eccentrics and outright lunatics. All of it would have to be checked for curses and Merlin knew what else. There weren't enough hours in the day for him to deal with it himself. It all had to be opened, sorted, and filed against the day, like today, when it just might be useful.

 _Remind me **not** to apply for that job. _Tonks didn't always like the one she had, but there were worse ones.

* * *

Major Stanley Lee, Commander of Her Majesty's Magical Military Squad, looked up as the envelope appeared in his In basket with a subdued pop. He picked it up and tapped it with his wand to open it. Reading it didn't take long. From the Crown Wizard's Office, of course, with that means of delivery. He read it quickly, then re-read it to make sure had the details right.

The name of the MMS had been accurate years ago. It had been a small detachment of soldiers who could use a wand as well as well as a rifle, tasked to the safety of the Sovereign. Now they were the Magical world's SAS, and not much smaller, either. Grindelwald and Voldemort had put paid on the comfortable idea of just letting the Magical Realm sort its own problems.

"O Group, Troop Commanders and RSM, now." That announcement was going to put the rumour mill in high gear, but that was just a fact of military life. The Troop Commanders would brief their people from what came out of the Orders Group. Normally the Deputy Commanding Officer would be there as well, but he was on leave.

"Good morning, gentlemen. We have a heads up from Crown Wizard's office. There is an intelligence report, deemed credible, of possible Death Eater activity. Not top tier, but second tier who escaped the clean-up. The force is at 12 hours notice to move at this time, and routine training is suspended. There will be a section strength Quick Reaction Force, heavy weapons and transport, configured to operate in a high-magic environment. Rotate that among the Troops."

The RSM's nod said that the QRF would be ready as soon as humanly possible. The Troop Commanders of X, Y and Z Troops finished taking notes and looked up.

"The intel report is sketchy. The target is reportedly Sirius Black, a prominent supporter of Her Majesty. CWO has a high level asset on the ground checking out the report, and we will get updates as they have them."

X Troop was commanded by Lieutenant McKendrick, who was new in the force. "Due respect, Sir, but does this asset know what he's about?"

The Z Troop Commander chuckled. "Let me guess, Sir. The asset has Sir in front of his name."

Lee agreed to that by saying nothing.

The Z Troop Commander nodded. "He knows what he's about. If he calls in the clans, make sure you're loaded for basilisk. He doesn't start at shadows."

Major Lee made a mental note that McKendrick seemed to have the good sense to listen to the old hands.

"Has Black gone into hiding, sir?" that question came from the Y Troop Commander.

"Negative. He's upped his personal security and is spending less time on the non-Magical side, but that's it for now." Lee replied.

"Dismissed to your duties, gentlemen." Lee concluded, and watched them leave. This might be a teapot tempest. A lot of them were. But if you were long enough in the Army, you got a feel for these things.

 _I don't have a good feeling about this one._


	2. Chapter 2 Covert Meet

**Chapter 2 Covert Meet**

Tonks had finally made it to her bed. She'd had to go back to Magical Law Enforcement HQ to lay the news on DMLE and her supervisor that someone else was going to have to cover off for her for the next while. Shacklebolt didn't bat an eye. Her supervisor was a lot less happy and a lot more vocal. She let him vent a bit, then referred him to Shacklebolt.

Thanks be, Greengrass had been at his desk. He was going to need about twelve hours or so to set up a covert meet with Fletcher.

"Who's going to be there?" He had asked, suspiciously.

"Me and my partner." She replied, shortly.

"Who is he?" He asked.

"My ... partner." She said in a tone that said that was all he was getting.

"I hope he understands covert." Greengrass said dubiously.

"We're not going to blow your meet. Owl me when it's set up." Tonks had replied, and left.

Twelve hours actual sleep and a good breakfast left Tonks feeling better. Merlin knew when she might get the like again. Greengrass's owl rapped on her window as she was drinking the last of her tea.

The meet was set for three hours from now, in a seedy part of Knockturn Alley.

 _Back to the underbelly of the Magical world. Bloody marvelous_. She thought.

Well, at least she knew the area and how to blend in. Harry was going to need some coaching. Working undercover was not a simple skill.

She scribbled a note on the bottom of Greengrass's note and took it to the owl perch by her front door. She tapped the rune on the perch with her wand and waited. Hedwig arrived a few minutes later. Tonks gave her an owl treat and handed her the letter. She gave a hoot and flew off. The privilege of sending an owl directly to Sir Harry Potter was very heavily restricted these days, but Tonks was family.

Tonks spent the next few minutes putting on street clothes and a street face. She had a half dozen personas of both genders that were well established in the Alley. This one was a female prostitute, so a male companion wouldn't raise any eyebrows.

Harry popped in, literally, a few minutes later. Per her note, he was wearing the seediest robes he owned, still a sizeable cut above the norm for the Alley. He had a broad-brimmed hat that would serve to hide his face without being too obvious about it. She could work with that.

"All right, Harry. We need to sort the script of this play. First, though, we need to hide your face. It is rather well known."

She opened the cupboard where she kept some useful items. "Hair growing potion. We need to hide your face without being obvious about it. Bottoms up."

He took it and knocked it back, then grimaced as his clean shaven face acquired a full beard in about a minute and his hair went from short to shoulder length.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Tonks asked. It was a pretty minor potion, and he'd used it before.

"All right. It grows all your hair, though." He replied.

"Too much information, Harry." Tonks replied briskly, then handed him a second bottle.

"What's that?" He asked.

"Antidote." Tonks replied. "We may need to convince someone that you are you."

He pocketed it without comment. "All right. What's the game plan here?"

"This is one of my established identities on the Alley. She's a prostitute. You're a middle class type from out of town cruising the Alley for some rough trade, and you found it. We're on our way to a rooming house to conduct business. You need to act the part. Furtive, half ashamed, half excited. Good reason for you to keep your hat pulled well down and keep to the shadows."

He looked thoughtful. "Makes sense. Why all the charade, though? Can't we just be nondescript and stick to the shadows?"

"The Alley is a small world, Harry. Strangers get noticed very quickly. In that jungle, you are either predator or prey. Strangers are assumed to be prey until they prove themselves otherwise."

"I could do that." He replied, coldly.

"I'm sure you could." She replied, careful to be diplomatic on a touchy subject. Harry had the scars, literal and figurative, from a bad childhood and was thereby quick with his wand where bullies and abusers were concerned. They couldn't afford that.

"That would attract attention that we absolutely cannot afford. It would quite likely cause Fletcher to go to ground and stay there, and it could blow this identity as well. This way, we fit a normal pattern and no one will bother us." She said.

He nodded acceptance. "Fair enough, Tonks. We haven't any time to lose, and you've a bloody awful job already. I'm not about to make it any worse."

They apparated to a safe spot that Tonks knew in the Alley. They headed down Cauldron Court to where it crossed the Alley.

"Put your hand on me, Harry." She said, quietly.

"Oh, right." He said and did so.

He got more into the skin of the part as they went, and even let his hand drift down a little. This was business, and she wouldn't have minded even if it wasn't. She'd had a few daydreams in that direction after her breakup with Remus Lupin. She shook off the thought. You stayed focused on the job or bad things happened.

Andrew Greengrass stood on the corner in a shadowy spot and swept his eyes around. Tonks was well known in the Service, and spotting someone who could look like literally anyone was pretty much a lost cause. Being with someone narrowed it down, though. A couple passed by, soiled dove and her john. Possible, but he was pretty sure he'd seen the prostitute before.

He swung around to check down the Alley, and a quiet voice in his ear said "Long Live The Queen".

"Send her victorious." He replied, as quietly, kicking himself for being caught out.

The soiled dove was Tonks. He recognised the voice. He took a second look at her companion. Male, medium everything, moved well. Between the beard and the hat, good luck on the face. Glasses, for what that was worth. Greengrass was pretty sure he was not an Auror.

"The meet?" Tonks asked in the same low tone.

"Alley behind the Hanged Man, twenty minutes." Greengrass replied.

She nodded. "Lead on. We'll follow."

He did so, taking his time and staying alert. They made it to the alley behind the Hanged Man pub with five minutes in hand. Harry wrinkled his nose. The alley stank of rotting garbage and piss.

Fletcher was already there. Short, middle-aged, seedy and balding. He looked more jittery than usual, which meant he would bolt for it at any excuse. Greengrass quietly cast an Anti-Apparation ward. Rather to Greengrass's surprise, Tonks eased on past Fletcher in case he should bolt in that direction, which meant her partner was going to question Fletcher.

The partner pulled a small potion vial from his pocket and knocked it back, then took off his hat as the beard went away. "Hello, Dung. It's been a while."

Fletcher went from jittery to scared white. "Mr. P-p-potter. Such an honour it is to meet you again."

"Mundungus Fletcher, as a subject of Her Majesty I command you to answer truthfully and completely the questions I shall put to you on Her Majesty's Service. So mote it be."

Greengrass was amazed at the power of the crackle of Magic that wrapped around the words. Fletcher's face took on the same look as someone under Veritaserum. Potter brought out a small Dictaquill and started asking questions. The story that Fletcher told was the same as what he'd told Greengrass, but with additional details. The spell seemed to stimulate memory as well. When Sir Harry required him to repeat the conversation word for word, Fletcher did so.

During the interrogation, Fletcher had backed up until his back was against the greasy bricks of the alley wall, and Greengrass and Tonks had closed in until they were almost back to back, wands ready.

"Must be nice." Greengrass said quietly. Tonks took his meaning at once. The equivalent of a bottomless vial of Veritaserum that you didn't have to wake up a judge to use was something any Auror would like to have.

"Membership in that club has its perqs, but the initiation is a stone killer." Tonks replied in an equally hushed tone. The three beat pause that followed invited Greengrass to recall some of the things that Harry Potter had been through before he'd been old enough to shave.

"Yeah." He said, and lapsed into silence. The further question of just what sort of high level throat cutting would bring Sir Harry Rich and Famous Potter his very own bloody self down to the arse end of Knockturn Alley to put the squeeze on a two Knut informant was … more than was good for an Auror to be involved in, personally or professionally.

"Andrew." Said Tonks, quietly. "This doesn't get talked about. Ever. To anyone."

"Got it." Greengrass replied. No real surprise, that. Went with the territory for this sort of thing.

He nodded toward the conversation going on between Potter and Fletcher. "You realize I can't answer for Fletcher."

Tonks chuckled. "Not terribly bright, Mundungus isn't, but he knew better than to cross Dumbledore and he knows better than to cross Harry."

Greengrass could well believe that.

The interrogation didn't last very long. Harry released the spell and gave Fletcher a hard stare. "Keep your eyes and ears open. Five galleons for anything useful. If I ever find out that you held anything back..."

"Y-y-yes Mr. Potter." Fletcher replied nervously.

Harry looked over his shoulder. "Let him go."

Greengrass nodded and dissolved the wards. Fletcher vanished with a crack.

"Sir Harry, I don't question that Fletcher would sell his mother for five galleons, but I really don't have the budget to pay out that much." Greengrass said carefully.

"Not to worry." Harry replied. "Submit your expenditures to Crown Wizards Office with a note that they're authorized by me. You won't have any trouble."

A few seconds and three cracks later the alley was empty.

Harry sat back in his chair and looked at the notes from his questioning of Mundungus Fletcher. "Not much here that we didn't already have, Tonks. Viper. I take it that his mother didn't give him that name."

"No." She replied. "DMLE does keep a file of street nicknames. We could check that. No guarantees. They don't have a College of Heralds to keep everything in order."

"Two hundredweight of thief. What on Earth is that?" He said, looking baffled.

"What's the context, Harry?" Tonks asked.

"Viper says 'After moving two hundredweight of thief I'm for the near and far for some pig's ear and Bristols.' Then the reply was 'Lady Bellatrix ain't going to like that.' 'She's dead.' Viper says. Then the reply is 'So will we be if we don't keep on the straight. Sirius Black gets dead, we stay alive.' Viper replies 'With luck we get the whole damned House of Black.'"

"Hmm." Tonks replied. "That's interesting. Cockney rhyming slang is its own dialect, and it moves around. Thief would be short for stop thief, which means beef. Pig's ear is beer. Bristols is short for Bristol City, meaning titty."

"Well, his taste in recreation isn't much of a surprise. Hang on, two hundredweight of beef?" Harry said. "Are you sure?"

Tonks nodded. "Yes. You have to be current if you're working undercover."

"People really speak that way?" Harry said.

"The Alley is a world away from Little Whinging, Harry." Tonks replied.

He shook his head. "I'll say it again, Tonks. You've a bloody awful job."

"Someone has to do it, Harry." She replied. "We've confirmed some things and learned a couple more. Lady Bellatrix is definitely Bellatrix Lestrange. No one else would dare use that name on the street, even now. DMLE speculated that these people might be under some sort of curse that would be binding even after Lestrange was dead. That's more likely now. I'll get into the moniker files and try to identify Viper."

"They are buying - or stealing - beef in hundredweight quantities. Perhaps other commodities as well. They would have a reason for that, though I've no groggiest idea what it might be." Harry said.

"Nor me either." Tonks replied. "It's a lead. We follow it up, perhaps we learn something."

"Fair point." Harry replied. "Their smart move, whether they're buying or stealing, would be to do it on the non-Magical side. That's a much bigger forest to hide in. Six or seven million people in London alone."

"Makes sense, Harry, but it leaves me at a stand. DMLE has no liaison with the non-Magical police at all." Tonks replied ruefully.

"I can take that on." Harry replied. "It will take time, though. Crown Wizard's Office will pass the word to someone on the non-Magical side who can ask a favour of the Police. They'll have to do a record search and the results will have to get passed back to us. The cover story is cut and dried, not to mention perfectly true. Suspected terrorist activity."

"Dammit." Harry said angrily. "We're losing time. What are these bloody bastards up to while we're grinding away? What if we're too late?"

Tonks understood the fear that drove that impatience, because she felt it herself. "We're not losing time, Harry, we're using it. We keep grinding and we'll get a break. We wouldn't be this far if not for you."

He visibly got a grip on himself. "You're right. Well, right now we have reports to write. So much for glamour."

Tonks nodded. "Let's get started."


	3. Chapter 3 Where's The Beef?

**Chapter 3 Where's The Beef?**

Tonks had spent a few hours in her bed after spending a lot of time in the records room. It would have been a lot less if the moniker files had been up to date, properly organized and in one place. They weren't. She had some hits, including one that looked promising.

Harry met her at the Floo fireplace. The front door was for dire emergencies only. It exposed the existence of 12 Grimmauld Place, however briefly. "Tonks, come in. Have you had breakfast?"

"Well, no, but ..." She replied, not wanting to impose but very tempted all the same.

"It's no trouble." He said firmly. "Kreacher. Another plate for Miss Tonks."

The heavenly smells of a really well cooked English breakfast overcame the last of her scruples. Eggs, bacon, scones, potatoes were all on the table, and she helped herself generously.

Sirius was there and greeted her cordially. "Ah, Tonks. I took your advice, and good advice it was, too. I've had MKS in to look at things, and there are some things that needed putting to rights. Some of it has been done already, the rest will be done in the next few days."

"Glad I could help." She said sincerely, and loaded up her plate. "I didn't notice anything."

Sirius smiled. "You're in the system as a trusted family member. You were scanned for Imperius and Polyjuice, though."

Well, MKS was the top of the line in both fees and competence. The House of Black would be about as safe as human effort could make it. She ate her breakfast feeling a little better. After they were done eating, Kreacher cleared the table and Sirius excused himself and left them to talk over tea.

"Any luck, Tonks?" Harry asked.

She took out her notebook, and turned the pages to the rather thin summary of her night in the file room. "Well, perhaps. The records are a mess. I was in there half the night and I still can't put my hand to my heart and say I'm sure that's everything. I found three Vipers. One's dead. He was bitten by his own pet. One is a petty thief who's as thin as a snake, hence the nickname. The third is interesting. He fits the description from Fletcher. Name is Toland Wanderlust. Graduated Hogwarts with decent grades, trained as a dragon handler and worked in the Reservation for a couple of years. He got fired from the Reservation for dealing black market dragon eggs."

"Hang on, there's a black market in dragon eggs? Who'd want one?" Harry asked.

"Hagrid did." Tonks replied.

Harry thought about that and nodded. "Did he do time for that?"

"No. The Reservation didn't want to press charges. Didn't want a scandal is my read. Azkaban came later. Continued involvement in the black market, escalating levels of violence, especially against non-Magicals. The Aurors were trying to build a case against him for Endangering the Statute, but when all your living witnesses are Obliviated mug .. ah non-Magicals, it's pretty hard to do." Tonks replied.

"No links to Bellatrix Lestrange or the Death Eaters, I suppose." Harry said thoughtfully. "We couldn't get that lucky."

Harry learned fast. "No." Tonks replied. "But he is the sort they'd recruit. He basically dropped out of sight a couple of months after the Restoration. No arrests, no informant reports until Fletcher's. No one made much out of it at the time. There were a lot of people who went to ground around that time."

She added thoughtfully, "I could put on his face, troll the Alley and see what turns up."

Harry paused for a moment. "You can do his face from photos. How about his voice? How he moves? Do you know his associates by face and name? You'd need a backup team, which would take time to assemble. They may well have trick questions against Polyjuice. Are you confident that you can answer those? Do you know his routine well enough to ensure you don't wind up face to face with him?"

"Ah, well ..." Tonks was taken aback. The answer to all those pertinent questions was no.

"No, Tonks. That's a risk we don't need to take." His tone was flat and final.

 _Well, Tonks, you aren't the first to underestimate Sir Harry._ Tonks thought, a bit ruefully _._

 _He has the privilege of talking to anyone he wants, including my colleagues in the DMLE who ensure my safety, which … he cares about quite a lot, actually. He's pulled off some undercover work of his own, as far as that goes._

Harry opened a file folder that held a printed report. "We did have some luck on the non-Magical side. This is a report that was done by a Crime Analyst for the Metropolitan Police. It details a series of thefts of large quantities of meat over the last six months. He confesses himself baffled by the methods of entry."

Tonks took the report and scanned it. "Makes sense if you know about Alohamora and Apparation. All told there was nearly twenty tons of meat taken, mostly beef and some pork. They made a mistake, Harry. Thefts get reported. This was odd enough to get noticed. If they'd just bought it, we'd be up the tower without a wand."

"The picture starts to come together." Harry said. "The lead suspect is a dragon handler, he's tapped into the black market in dragon eggs, and you would need a lot of meat to feed a newly hatched dragon."

"Or dragons. There might well be more than one." Tonks said grimly. Harry's picture made an uncomfortable amount of sense. There was a piece missing, though.

"Motive, Harry. Where's the motive?" Tonks said. "This group is going to a lot of time and trouble, money and risk over this. Fletcher wasn't lying to you. They want Sirius dead, fine. A knife or a club will do that, or just a curse in the back. You don't even need magic for that, let alone a dragon."

Harry looked thoughtful, then raised two fingers. "Maybe they can't find him. Sirius and I live at the House of Black. It's very well hidden. Even Voldemort couldn't find it. The Secret Keeper for the House of Black is trustworthy. We both value our privacy, so we maintain those precautions. We come and go by Floo, and it's unlisted. We're not talking about the brightest wands in the shop, but what they lack in intellect they make up in ruthlessness and brutality. If you need to get one grain of sand on a beach, you can use a shovel. They could know which part of London he lives in. Maybe … maybe they plan to just burn down that part of London to get to us."

Tonks looked shocked, then determined. "What do we do now?"

"We get updates out to Crown Wizard's Office and DMLE, and we hope that Fletcher's greed outweighs his cowardice."

Several hours of work later, Harry stood, stretched, and reached for his teacup, finding it empty. "I don't think we can do any more with what we have. We've notified everyone who needs to know."

"That's right." Tonks said. "There's some progress. We know at least some of the Who and the What. We need the Where and the When."

"I'd settle for the Where." Harry replied. "If we have that, I call in the clans and MMS drops on them like a ton of brick."

"Harry, is that legal?" Tonks asked. As an Auror, Tonks was accustomed to a system where you made your case to a judge, got a warrant, and then and only then could you move. The rules on what was reasonable grounds for a warrant had gotten a lot tighter of late.

Harry's cool, level look was scarier than any angry response. "As legal as breathing, Tonks. I have the authority and the responsibility, from Her Majesty's own hand, to investigate a threat to the Realm and decide upon the response. This I don't even have to think about. Death Eaters are terrorists, and these are in possession of weapons of mass destruction. MoD responds."

"What if we're wrong?" Tonks said, worriedly. Her experience as an Auror had taught her that sometimes your picture fit reality, and sometimes it didn't.

"If they have any sense, they drop their wands and surrender." Harry replied. "If they aren't terrorists, then they get handed over to DMLE and are dealt with by the civil courts. If they are, they still get a fair trial. Either way, if they don't surrender, stupidity is a capital offense."

Harry looked at Tonks' shocked expression. "I'm not about to abuse that authority, Tonks. I'm well aware of the stakes here. I'm not about to call in MMS without hard evidence. On the other hand, if we delay too long, we might find out what they're up to the hard way."

 _And to think I used to complain about working undercover on the Alley._ Tonks thought.

* * *

The report arrived in the In box with a crack. Stan Lee put down the report on the logistics of the MMS, glad enough to get away from reading about the minutiae of modifying standard Army Spartan armoured vehicles to operate in a high magic environment while not tipping the hand of the reason for those modifications to people who not only had no need to know, but could not even allowed to be able to suspect that there was a secret to keep in the first place.

He read through the report, which didn't take very long. Crown Wizard's Office had passed it on straight away, which was eminently a good thing. That Sir Harry was looking into this business was also looking like more and more of a very good thing indeed. Not much to go on, but a wink was as good as a nod to a blind man and he now had the time to get his people ready for that contingency.

"Sergeant Fletcher." He said, only just above conversationally.

Sergeant Fletcher was a short man, whose white hair and beard made him look a little like Father Christmas without the good nature. He was the MMS Intelligence Sergeant, and unfortunately he worked alone. A regular Special Forces unit would have a whole section, not to mention continuous liaison with MI-5 and MI-6. Since there was no magical equivalent of those agencies, and trained intelligence analysts were scarce at the best of times and hens teeth when they also had to be wizards, MMS made do.

"What do you make of this, Owl?" Stan said.

Fletcher speed read his way through the report, and looked thoughtful. "The data's thin on the ground, Sir, but I can't fault the conclusion. Black market in dragon eggs. Never had any inkling of such a thing. You'd think that they'd track that sort of thing the way the non-magical world tracks plutonium, but apparently not. There's a lot we don't know, like how much of a problem this has been for how long, and how much of a threat dragons are. I'll take it you want me to get into this?"

"Forthwith, Owl. I know you've got a lot else on your plate, but put together a brief for the leadership." Lee replied.

The Intelligence brief was a few hours later. The officers and Troop Warrants were all there, plus anyone else who could put together a reasonably creative excuse. You weren't very long in MMS before you came to the conclusion that there was no such thing as too much information on possible threats.

"Right then, we've identified the probable head of the terrorist cell." Fletcher tapped his wand to put up a picture of Toland Wanderlust, plus a summary of his record.

"We've recently been informed that there is a known problem with black market dragon eggs. This individual is, with good confidence, involved in that trade. They've also been stealing meat by the hundredweight, far more than they could use themselves. Medium confidence that they're feeding it to a dragon or dragons."

Fletcher took in the concerned looks, and went on. "We don't know where this is happening or how long it's been going on. That investigation is ongoing."

Lieutenant McKendrick was the newest officer in MMS. He'd passed selection and the unwritten but decisive assessment of his Troop Sergeant Major. "All of this has just fallen through the cracks. I'd say it was well past time there was some adult supervision here."

Stan Lee didn't disagree, but soldiers didn't make policy. "Not our business, Lieutenant."

McKendrick nodded acceptance and fell silent.

"There haven't been any dragons in the wild for a long time now. They like to den up in caves or similar formations. They are very territorial, no surprise given that they are apex carnivores who eat a lot. Anyone who does encounter one will most likely simply vanish without a trace." Fletcher continued.

The meat of the briefing was a summation of the threat from dragons, and it quickly evolved into a brainstorming and planning session on how to take down a dragon. The consensus that emerged was that it was a tough problem, with no simple solution. The only good news was that they weren't very intelligent, about like a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

An armoured T-Rex that breathed fire as hot as a welding torch was still no bargain. MMS made a lot of plans that were never needed. Hopefully this would be one of them.


	4. Chapter 4 Sorting Mail

**Chapter 4 Sorting Mail**

Tonks' day began with an owl from Andrew Greengrass. It was one of the owls from the Ministry owlery. She read through it quickly, then again more carefully. _Well, not good._

She dashed off a reply for the owl to return to Greengrass. "Request full case file, delivered forthwith."

Harry came in from the sitting room where he had been having his breakfast, teacup in hand. Harry ate a big breakfast and took his time with it. Tonks understood that and never commented on it. Harry had endured quite a few years where breakfast was a privilege, one that was frequently revoked for any reason or none.

"What was that, Tonks?" He asked.

"Just got an owl from Greengrass. Fletcher has surfaced." Tonks said, re-reading the letter again.

Harry looked interested, then concerned as he took in Tonks' expression. "About bloody time. What's he got to say for himself?"

"Nothing, because he surfaced face down in the Thames. I've got an owl out to Greengrass for the whole case file, but I can't say I have a lot of hope there." Tonks replied.

Harry put down his teacup. "How so, Tonks?"

"Petty criminal, low level informant, ambiguous circumstances. In an ideal world he'd get the same attention as a member of the Wizengamot. It is not an ideal world. For all anyone knows he stumbled off a bridge because he was drunk. Fletcher didn't often draw a sober breath by choice. That case file is going to be as thin as a ghost's robes." Tonks said.

"I can't say I like the timing, Tonks, but there have to be a lot of people who'd like to see Fletcher dead. It could be a coincidence." Harry said. He steepled his fingers and looked thoughtful.

Tonks frowned. "You could paper the walls with that list, right enough. I don't believe in coincidence when it comes to this sort of thing. On the other hand, if they took him out why was there a body at all?"

"Error is easy, Tonks. It has come up time and again that these are not the brightest wands in the shop. Crime of opportunity, dump the body and move on." Harry said.

At that point another Ministry owl fluttered in to a landing.

Tonks gave it an owl treat and took the file, tapping it with her wand to make it expand to full size.

She opened it, read and frowned. "Less here than I hoped for, and I didn't have high hopes to start with. He was found by the Metropolitan Police. There was a Statute cover up, minimal. They just made sure it went into the books as an accidental drowning, unidentified homeless person, no evidence of foul play."

"No autopsy, no body and no way to get it." Tonks added.

"Magic can do a lot, Tonks." Harry said.

"It can't un-cremate a body. Part of the Statute cover up." Tonks said.

"Anything of use?" Harry said.

"There's an estimate of where he went into the river. That will be pretty close. The Met has had a lot of practice at that over the years. They're saying Woolwich Arsenal, that area." Tonks said.

"Well, lets see here." Harry said, unrolling a map on the table. "Woolwich Arsenal, here we are. Well, hang on, that is interesting. Right hard by is Michael's Meat Market, which is one of the largest wholesale meat companies in all of London."

Harry and Tonks looked at each other, and her hair turned electric pink with excitement. "It fits."

"They've gotten smarter. Not good news for us. Stealing from retail outlets gets noticed and reported. A little judicious use of _Imperius_ and _Obliviate,_ and a truckload or two or three gets sent where they want it. Long odds it never gets reported, either. Probably just gets written off as an inventory cock-up or a delivery mistake." Harry said.

"Fletcher got too close, and they took him out. They didn't bother with disposing of the body, just dumped it in the Thames. Fletcher's greed did outweigh his cowardice after all. Fat bloody lot of good it did us. Or him." Tonks said.

"Tells us that they were stealing more meat than we thought. More dragons, bigger dragons." Harry said.

"Or both." Tonks said. Both of them acquired the same grim look.

* * *

"Well, all we can do is keep working on it." Harry said, and pulled up a thick file of papers. "Ah, me public. These are all the sightings of anything unusual." He handed her a good stack.

Several hours later, Harry looked up from the stack of parchment, stretched, and said, "Well, just maybe, Tonks. Check me on this. We've got three dragon sightings here. Same day, same area."

Tonks took a look at the letters. She wasn't impressed. There wasn't a lot of detail there. Three different people in three different villages in that area had reported seeing a dragon in flight up high. The best of the three had had the presence of mind to use Supersensory Ocularis and had been sure it really was a dragon. None of them had anything as useful as a direction or a time of day.

"Not to be a wet blanket, Harry, but I don't see that there's enough here to go on with. Those three villages are miles apart. Somewhere in the vicinity covers a pretty wide area. You could get a lot older trying to comb that whole area for people who don't want to be found. Even with help from MLE it would be pretty hard." Tonks said, dubiously.

He nodded. "There is something I can try. I learned this from the soldiers at the MMS."

He went over to a shelf that had a stack of tubes on it. He took one of those and a package of coloured pens and brought it back from the table. He pulled a muggle Ordnance Survey map out of the tube, spread it out on the table and put a sheet of clear plastic over it.

"All right. If you put things on the map, you can see connections between them better." He said. "Here we have the village of George's Cross." He marked that on the map.

He checked the letters again, and grimaced. "Upper Cut and Fiddle's Green are magical, so not on the map."

It took some plowing through the books on his shelves before they could establish the locations of the two villages, but they were also marked on the map. They formed a rough triangle. Tonks looked down at the map, quite puzzled at what he was on about with this. Harry took up a drawing compass and said, "Now we are going to have to guess a little. How high do you think a dragon might fly?"

It had been a while since her Care of Magical Creatures courses at Hogwarts, but she knew that dragons hunted like hawks, relying on their phenomenal eyesight to spot prey so they could dive on it. "Say, quarter of a mile."

Harry looked up a table in the back of one of the books, and said, "All right, it would be visible out to a distance of about 40 miles. Probably less than that in practice, but let's go with that."

He set the compass against the scale on the side of the map, then drew circles around each of the villages in turn. The circles overlapped, and formed a small triangle where all three of them did. He smiled with satisfaction, and put his finger on it. "Assuming, which I think is reasonable, that those three people saw the same dragon at close to the same time, it was in that area there."

Tonks' eyes widened. He had just cut an area of hundreds of square miles down to one just a few miles across.

"What's there, Harry?" Tonks asked. They bent over the map and looked carefully.

"Sweet bloody damn all." Was Harry's verdict. "Which is what you'd want if you were hiding something like an illegal dragon."

"All right, that's a lead. It's not proof of anything." Tonks said, carefully.

"No, it's not. As someone who's in this business said to me, it's a lead. We follow it up, and perhaps we learn something. If we had more reports, we could establish more sightings. What's here is all we have." Harry said.

"Well, then, we'll just have to get more, Harry." Tonks replied.

"Where would we get more?" Harry said, looking puzzled.

"Harry, what you have there ..." she gestured at the sheets of parchment on the table. "Is a lot less than what's out there, and I'll bet money and give any odds on that. People don't report things for any number of reasons. Didn't want to get involved, laziness, didn't think it was important. What you have there is just the people who were interested enough and energetic enough to pick up a quill and owl you."

"So?" He said.

"So I get out in the field and talk to people, buy pints, talk to the local Hitwizards, talk to the Muggle police, do what's needed to get those reports. Muggles have technology and we have magic, but shoe leather is still a lot of police work for anyone."

"I could help." Harry offered.

Tonks shook her head emphatically. "If Sir Harry Potter is seen in a country pub, the gossip will fly at the speed of magic. There'll be questions asked. Lots of them. I don't think we want that."

Harry thought about what they were doing getting into the Daily Prophet, and nodded his agreement. Bloody panic was not going to help anything. "Yes, we really want to keep this one under the invisibility cloak."

Tonks pulled down the Floo directory, and made note of the codes for the Hopping Pot in Fiddle's Green and the Broken Wand in Upper Cut. Both villages had the Floo in their respective pubs, which would save her some time. There was no better place to pick up gossip on local happenings.

 _Buying pints in country inns instead of cruising the Alley as a prostitute. Not going to complain about that._ Tonks thought.

Tonks finished dictating the report, leaned back and stretched and took a drink of her tea. She grimaced a little. The spell on the cup kept the tea hot, but old tea still tasted like it. To be sure, a word to Kreacher would get her a fresh pot of the best, but she still felt a little uneasy working in the comfortable surroundings of the library of the House of Black, and being waited on by servants.

Every cop in both worlds complained about parchment work, but there was a reason for it beyond the obvious one that parchment didn't forget. Reasons, in fact. Putting things down on parchment forced you to think about what you had and whether it was believable and relevant, and organize it so it made sense. An item that had come up several times as a local tragedy she had dismissed as irrelevant. Now she had a gut feeling that she needed to reconsider that. Of course, gut feelings could be wrong. That was why you bounced things off your partner.

Still, she had something to put on that parchment, which was something to show for the time she'd spent Flooing around to country pubs. She wasn't sure it was something useful.

"Harry, I've got something here. I don't know if it's related." she said.

"Go ahead." He said, turning to face her from the big wooden table where he had been plotting dragon sightings on the Ordnance Survey map.

"It kept coming up as a local mystery. There were five members of a muggle potholers club that just vanished in that area."

"Potholers." Harry said. "Sounds rather indecent."

Tonks smiled briefly. "I suppose it does. The reality is rather less so. They explore caves as a hobby."

"Caves." Harry said, slowly. "There are caves in that area?"

Tonks consulted her notes. "Not that anyone knows about. I talked to the local muggle Constable, and that was part of the mystery. Why were they in the area at all?"

"They're sure they vanished in that area?" Harry said.

"The Constable was pretty sure. They stayed at a local inn in George's Cross, loaded up all their equipment in an off-road vehicle and left early in the morning. They left all their luggage behind. Never seen again. No trace of them or their vehicle has been found."

"Had they been in that area before?" Harry asked.

Tonks looked startled, then checked her notes again. "I didn't think to ask."

"All right, Tonks. Let's see if this is plausible." He said slowly. "Suppose they were there before, and found a cave no one else knew about. They don't tell anyone, because they want to keep it for themselves. Hobbyists, and they've got a new toy to play with. They come back to explore it some more, and run right into our villains, because that's their hideout. They're murdered, and the bodies and the vehicle disposed of."

"Plausible, certainly, Harry. Dragons live in caves naturally, and it would be a good place to hide one." She said. "The smart move would be just to Obliviate them and send them on their way. That way no one gets suspicious."

"Smart is not their long suit, Tonks. These people enjoy killing non-Magicals. A dragon would just kill and eat them if they encountered it first." Harry replied.

Tonks pursed her lips and nodded. "It makes sense and it fits together. Where does that take us?"

"It's a club of hobbyists. They'll have somewhere to hold their meetings, store their equipment, that sort of thing. If they have any records, that's where they'd keep them." Harry said.

"Wouldn't the non-Magical police have looked into that?" Tonks replied.

"I don't know, Tonks. I think it world be worth the effort to find out."

They arranged to split up the work. They were going to need to talk to the families and the local authorities, and Harry could do some of that, with a plausible cover story, because he wasn't famous on the non-Magical side of the UK.

The cover stories hadn't been very difficult to arrange. Potholers were as a rule an outgoing and welcoming group of people, at least when it came to their hobby. Tonks was going as a reporter, looking into the tragic disappearance. Harry was passing as a University student who was interested in getting involved in the hobby.


	5. Chapter 5 Finding The Entrance

**Chapter 5 Finding The Entrance**

"Constable, might I talk to you for a minute?" Tonks was wearing a buxom bubbly blonde appearance that was pretty well guaranteed to make a normal straight male willing to talk over tea, and perhaps preen a little. The Constable was a large heavyset red-faced man who was evidently known to all.

"I'm a freelance journalist, doing a story on the Ketmore Potholers." She started in.

"I won't have you bothering the families. They've had enough of that. Daft bloody questions about how they feel about losin' their boys. How the bloody Hell do they think they're going to feel?" He said, his brow darkening.

"I totally agree. People like that don't help anyone, certainly not those of us who are trying to do an honest job with real stories. What I am going to talk about is the hobby itself. People pay attention when there's a tragedy. One bad accident doesn't mean that they did anything wrong. There are people who are very quick to blame, quite often unfairly. I'd like to have a go at setting the record straight a bit." Tonks replied soothingly.

"Well, all right." The manner was still wary, but not hostile.

"Would you like to have tea while we talk?" Tonks said.

The Constable, Tonks observed, had a weakness for sticky buns. Tonks had a sandwich. Maintaining an appearance took energy. She could follow a "see food" diet and never gain weight.

"The Club itself had been in existence for quite a while?" she asked.

"Fifteen years. It was actually founded by the father of one of the boys. They'd never had an accident. It is not just going off on a lark, you know. There are safety rules, procedures you need to follow. There's a national association, and if you're going to be certified then you take the training and follow the rules. They did that. Careful, serious young men. Not the harum scarum lot they were made out to be by some of those bloody reporters."

Tonks had done her homework, but it was still thin on the ground. Never an accident could mean just that, or it could mean never a reported accident. Tonks didn't have Harry's ability to compel truth, but she was good at reading people. He meant it.

"That's the sort of thing you find out when you ask people who actually know." She said.

He nodded, looking mollified. "Did you know about the Hardanger Cave rescue?"

"No, I didn't." Tonks said. _I really didn't know about that._

"That would be four years ago now. Daft bloody school teacher took a bunch of kids into the cave for a lark. It had rained pitchforks, and there was flooding in the cave. They got cut off and lost. It was a time before they were missed, too. He hadn't told anyone when they expected to be back." He said.

"Really? That was them?" Tonks said, making sure to look properly impressed, which was not all that hard.

"That it was. They volunteered, went in and found them, got them out. Just in time, too. Some of those kids were looking pretty poorly by the time they got back up to daylight again." The Constable said.

"That certainly puts another light on it, now." Tonks said. _It really does. Careful, skilled people who've been doing this for quite a while, and who are good at it. I like the accident theory a lot less. It's still not a glowing wand._

"Did they have a clubhouse?" She asked.

"There was one, but not anymore. It burned down not long after they went missing. Total loss. It was on Gondwal's Farm, out along the Lower Post Road. Edric was father to Jamie Gondwal, you know. Odd, that. It was a stone building." The Constable said.

"Sorry to hear that." Tonks said. _Sorrier than you know. That's a coincidence too far. They were murdered._

Tonks drew her wand. _Obliviate._

Tonks walked away, sheathing her wand. _Sorry, Constable, but it's for your own protection. These people would kill you on general principles if they thought they needed to, after they squeezed you dry._

Tonks thought about asking directions, decided that was too much of a risk, and settled for buying a map of the local area, to which she added a little misdirection. Having never been there, she couldn't just Apparate straight there, but it only took three line of sight ones to get herself within easy walking distance. The clubhouse itself was visible from the road.

Tonks took a look around. No one seemed to be there. The farmhouse was down a lane out of sight. Tonks went up the road and along the path to the outbuilding. A look through the hole where the door had been confirmed that the Constable had spoken the exact truth. Everything flammable had been reduced to fine gray ash and the interior of the walls had been cracked and blackened with heat. Twisted remains by the outside of of the wall identified a propane tank, which had undoubtedly fed a heater. Stone buildings were always cold, and that had probably passed for the cause of the fire.

Tonks cast a diagnostic spell, and nodded grimly. Fiendfyre. _Now we've got the glowing wand, right enough._

She looked at her watch. She and Harry had arranged to meet for dinner at the Ketmore Inn to compare notes. There wasn't going to be any more here.

* * *

Harry knocked at the door of the modest little stone cottage. It looked old enough to have been there at the Norman Conquest. The woman who answered was on the high side of middle age, and was looking worn with grief. Harry blamed her not a whit. Her only son, of whom she'd had every right to be proud, was gone, vanished. She hadn't even the closure of knowing what had happened.

Harry could salve his conscience with the thought that he was actually trying to get her that closure, perhaps even bring his murderers to book. Harry was now in absolute agreement with Tonks' certainty that such had been the case. The clubhouse had netted her exactly nothing except the certainty that someone had used Fiendfyre with complete indifference to whether anyone was hurt or whether it spread.

"Mrs. Kent, I'm Arthur Hackett. Not to intrude, but I was in the area. I knew Tom at the University, and I thought I'd come by and pay my respects and give you my condolences. He was a fine man, and I was the better for knowing him." Harry said. The idea that he was a would-be hobbyist hadn't lasted, but this was a serviceable second best and nearly impossible to check.

"Oh, well, come in then." She said.

Seated, with tea in front of them, Mrs. Kent asked, "How ... how was he at the University? He wrote sometimes, and there were phone calls, but he was busy and we understood that. When he was home on the holidays, they were always gone on one or other of their expeditions."

"Well, he was always studying, you know. Said you'd given up a lot to send him to the Uni, and he didn't want to let you down. We'd drag him out for a pint once in a while, to be sure." Harry said. That was a guess, but a good one. The Uni record said plodder's A's.

"Oh." She said.

Harry hoped that was a bit of comfort for her, but he wasn't here for that. He slid out his wand unobtrusively. "Jane Kent, as a subject of Her Majesty I command you to answer truthfully and completely the questions I shall put to you on Her Majesty's Service. So mote it be."

Harry spent the next twenty minutes questioning her. There had indeed been a previous expedition to George's Cross during the holidays the previous year. Of more importance was the fact that Tom Kent was an inveterate diarist.

 _Obliviate. Stupefy._ Seated in a comfortable chair as she was, Mrs. Kent would simply assume that she'd nodded off. Harry cleared away his own tea things, then headed upstairs. Tom's old room was now practically a shrine to him. That didn't bode well for her ever being able to deal with her loss and move on, but that wasn't something Harry could help with.

It took Harry a little time to search the room. Like many another diarist, Tom Kent squirreled his away. He wasn't very original about it, though. Harry's backpack was appropriate to the University student he claimed to be. It would hold a very great deal indeed. Hermione had enchanted it for him.

In the stash with the diaries there was also a notebook. It was a cheap corner store one, but Tom Kent had been a hard up university student. Harry opened it up and smiled. "The Ketmore Cave" it said on the flyleaf. _Well, Tom Kent. You just may have given us the means to get some justice for you and your friends. Not to mention saving some of London from getting burned down._

Harry and Tonks started work in his room right after dinner. "It would be really nice if there was a nice clear map with 'X marks the spot' on it."

"A world with no Death Eaters in it would be a good thing, too, Harry." Tonks replied.

They got to work. The notebook was a personal diary of the first expedition to the cave. Kent hadn't discovered it, but Stephen Whistler, who had, had simply marked the spot so that they could come back with proper equipment. They had done so. According to the notebook, the cave entrance was well hidden, and the cave itself was in rough broken terrain with thick brush, enough to discourage even hikers and walkers.

A riffle through the latest diary didn't get them anything of interest. He'd had a crush on a girl at the university, but she was seeing someone else. The day to day of classes, professors he liked or didn't, all very normal.

The cave diary was not terribly well organized. What had been in the clubhouse might well have been, but this was mostly his personal impressions and descriptions of the interior of the cave. Descriptions of the route to the cave were bits and pieces that they had to put together.

Hours of arguing and poring over a large scale Ordnance Survey map identified to both their satisfaction the dead end road where the Ketmore Potholers had parked their van and gone on foot from there. The essential detail of which way they had gone was not to be found.

"All right. We know they got knocked up very early and they were on the road not far past the crack of dawn. Give it about and hour and a half to get to the dismount point, according to the diary." Harry said.

"They'd be carrying heavy packs. All their equipment." Tonks said.

"They would, but they'd be accustomed to that. Let's say ten miles for a start, see what that gets us." Harry replied, and used a set of compasses to draw a circle on the map, after setting them to the scale on the map.

"That's depressing." Tonks said.

"Well, it's a large scale map." Harry said.

Another two hours of arguing about how well landmarks fit the notebook entries got them down to three possible sites.

"That's as good as we're going to get." Harry said definitely.

"What now? Can't say I just fancy going in there on foot, and Apparating in would be pretty iffy in that sort of country. I'm not a country girl, Harry." Tonks said.

"That's a risk we don't have to take. If we alert them, they could just decide to go all in. It's not as if they had anything to lose." Harry said.

"Where did you learn all this, Harry? Map work, how you located the dragon area in the first place?" Tonks asked.

He looked up from the map and rubbed his eyes. "Well, when I came over to the Crown Wizard's Office, pretty much the first job I was handed was the liaison to the MMS." He said.

"Wasn't being done well?" Tonks asked, seeing his expression.

"It wasn't being done at all." He said.

At her surprised look, he added, "The Restoration was a huge change in a lot of ways. You're an Auror, and the rules there changed a lot. MMS went from a few soldiers doing security for the Sovereign to a full up unit with armoured vehicles and heavy weapons. Not easy, that, but after the take down of the Death Eaters and the new Commander of MMS taking a serious look at just what he'd inherited, it got done. There are still a lot of things being invented as we go on." He said.

He pointed his hand at the map. "A unit like the MMS assumes that if you don't know something, you set yourself to learn it. If you're going to get their respect, you keep up. If you don't have their respect, they don't talk to you. I don't think I'd been in the building five minutes before I heard the phrase, 'Fail to plan, plan to fail'. We're going to make a plan."

Harry went to his backpack and began pulling things out of it. His Firebolt was the first, then his invisibility cloak. The next item was a small piece of stone, carved in intricate patterns.

"What's that?" Tonks said curiously.

"Voice communications rune. The problem with Wizarding Wireless is that it's not very secure. This is better. You remember the twin mirrors?" He said.

Tonks nodded, and he continued. "You can do the same thing with sound, and it's easier to do and a lot more rugged. Mirrors can break. Soldiers are very big fans of ruggedness. Soldier-proof means damned near indestructible. They use these for communications between vehicles and back to HQ. I have one in case I need to call in the clans. I've never had to do that, but ..."

"Fail to plan, plan to fail." Tonks said.

"Exactly. So, the plan. I'm going to keep it simple. I'll do fly-by on my broom under the cloak for each location, using _Supersensory Ocularis._ It will have to be slow, otherwise I could lose the cloak. When I spot it, then I haul out, pass the word to MMS, and they do the take-down." He said.

He looked thoughtful, and reached into his backpack again. "Speaking of which, yes, here it is. Peruvian Instant Darkness powder, brought to you by the great minds at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. If I lose the cloak for any reason, then I pop one of these and get the hell out of it."

He pulled out a couple of small bottles, and pocketed them. "There. I think I'm set."

Tonks looked serious. "Suppose it really goes all pear-shaped? I've worked undercover, Harry. It can go wonky on you in a heartbeat no matter how well you plan. If you don't have backup, and by that I mean as quick as kiss your hand, that's how your family gets the visit from the Chaplain."

Harry looked thoughtful, took off his glasses and nibbled on the frame, and said, "Fair point. That's a problem."

Tonks said, "How exactly does MMS deploy, Harry? You've talked about calling in the MMS, but how would that work in practice?"

"MMS has Portkeys to places all over Britain. They Portkey to the nearest, and from there by road." He said.

"What if they're seen?" She said.

"Army exercise, routine training, mumble mumble." Harry said.

 _That would work. Teacup gossip for a day or so, that's it. Better than Obliviating people wholesale._ "So how long would it take to for them to get there?"

He shook his head. "Back of beyond. Hours at least, probably longer."

"Not good enough." She said.

He frowned. "There's the targeted Portkey. The Commander of MMS has looked at this problem, too. Targeted Portkey doesn't home on a particular place, like a normal one, but on a target that you just activate and drop."

"Got that in your backpack?" Tonks replied.

He shook his head. "There's just one, and it's at MMS garrison - the Portkey is. They've been doing trials with it. CWO's office has the targets, because they're the ones that go out to emplace them."

"So, I go back to the Ministry building, from there to CWO's offices and get you a target." Tonks said.

"CWO's office passes the word to MMS to be ready to deploy using the targeted Portkey." Harry added.

"You'll need a letter of authorization." He added, and dug out a quill and parchment.

A letter of authorization from Sir Harry Potter worked wonders. Tonks was back in just three hours with the target and the assurance from CWO that MMS would be notified.

Harry lifted off into the evening, his cloak draped to hide him and the broom, feeling that he had planned as well as he could. He wasn't trying to be a hero over this. He just wanted to get the job done, and he was more than happy to leave the heavy wand work to the people who were trained and equipped for it.

He eased down toward the first location, cast _Supersensory_ and flew around it from all sides. It was a small hill, one side of it crumbled away to show the underlying limestone. No evidence of anything there. No evidence that anyone had been there in a long time, for that matter.

 _All right, on to the next._ It was about twenty miles to the next location, and Harry took his time, making sure that he didn't lose the cloak. That wasn't a hill, just a sunken creek bed. It didn't fit the description in the diary very well, but they were being thorough. Again, no joy, and Harry saw a couple of fishermen along the creek. They were alive and uneaten, so that ruled out that location.

Harry made a low pass over the third location, which was a hill with one side crumbled away to make a small cliff. At the base he could see a dark opening, partially hidden by underbrush. Brush had been trampled flat in front of it, too, by something heavy. _Got you!_

The shadow that fell over him from something blocking out the late evening sun sent a bolt of alarm through him, followed by the sound of vast wings above him. The cloak whisked away as Harry sent the Firebolt into a hard climbing turn, which was barely in time to cause the plume of dragon fire to miss.

Harry had been here before, during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He knew the Firebolt could turn faster than a dragon and climb faster, too. He concentrated, literally for dear life, on using those advantages. He only saw the wards because the dragon hit one of them and bounced off. They had to be the same sort of wards that the dragon reservation used.

 _One way, these. Fly, drive or walk in all you want. Stay there until you get eaten, fried to a crisp in your own fat._

The cloak was long gone, and if he lived through this bloody goat rope he'd go back to retrieve it. Harry used the few precious seconds it took the dragon to right itself from bouncing off the wards to tap the Portkey target with his wand to activate it, grab it out of the clip and drop it. Then he tapped the voice rune to activate it.

"We have a problem. Home on my Portkey target. We have a … "

Harry dodged another firebloom, sheathed his wand, and gave one hundred and ten percent of his attention to flying and surviving.


	6. Chapter 6 Contact

**Chapter 6 Contact**

Evan McKendrick had just taken the turnover brief from the Z Troop Commander as QRF Officer. It had added up to no problems, all quiet, no deficiencies in the vehicles or equipment.

The last intel update had been an hour ago. CWO's assets were on the ground working to locate the terrorist's hideout. They were on standby to deploy using the new targeted Portkey. The smart money was that they were closing in.

He pulled up the intel brief again. One of the suspects was identified as a trained dragon handler, and there were indications of illicit dragon breeding. It was a reasonable bet that wherever the terrs had their hideout, it would be at the arse end of bloody nowhere. That made things a little easier, really. No innocent bystanders or unwanted attention.

He pulled up the book on magical creatures. It was a fat one, called _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by someone named Newt Scamander, who was apparently the Magical world's equivalent of John James Audubon. He started going through it and making notes. It would be nice if there was a Tactical Manual telling you how to fight a dragon. If they did it and survived, he'd probably get to be the one to write it.

Scamander's book covered a jumbo sized assortment of creatures out of fantasy novels. As advertised, dragons were large armoured reptiles that could breathe fire and fly. They weren't intelligent, though. More on the lines of a T Rex with wings. They were endangered and confined to a few reservations. The British one was up in the Hebrides. Scamander said that they were "creatures of terrible beauty."

QRF duty was mostly waiting, with a side order of hoping that the shit hit the fan on someone else's shift. Hope wasn't a plan. He called the people together. It was less an Orders Group than a round table and a brainstorming session.

They had a few vulnerable spots. The obvious one of putting a rocket launcher round into the open mouth was complicated by the fact that a rocket launcher round couldn't survive dragon fire. How effective an anti-tank rocket would be provoked a lively discussion. The eyes were vulnerable. There was a curse that was used to blind them. Evan suspected that a well placed rifle bullet would be effective, too. There were thin spots around the wing joints, too. The rocket launchers he was going to save for the last resort. They had to be modified to be spell-proof, and there were only the four rounds.

Dragon fire was the main threat. Vehicle armour reinforced with shield spells would withstand one or two hits. Tactical maneuver and use of cover were the obvious consensus there. For whatever reason, dragons didn't usually breathe fire while flying. They'd land and line up on their target. They were highly territorial and protective of their nests.

 _Makes sense. Large carnivores are going to need a big hunting area._ That also meant that anyone who stumbled over one wasn't likely to live to report it.

The plan that emerged was pretty rough given the lack of detail, but everyone had their nose pointed in the right direction, anyway. MMS ran on the Special Forces style of discipline, less formal but more strict in its own way. McKendrick was well aware of his own new boy status, rank notwithstanding.

They had just had a meal, stew in hay boxes, and the dirty dishes were being stacked off to the side of the ready area, when a loud alarm went off. "Contact! QRF stand to! QRF Stand to!"

It was followed by another voice, sounding young but grimly controlled. "We have a problem. Home on my Portkey target. We have a … " The rest was drowned out by a huge roaring sound that cut off abruptly.

 _Doesn't sound good._ Evan called the Stand To. The eight men of the QRF called off one by one as being in their stand-to positions, ready to fight at a moment's notice.

"Sergeant, button up. Driver, start. All positions load, load, load." Sealing up the vehicle as close as possible to water and gas-tight would limit their ability to fire weapons, but until he knew what they were getting into he would live with that.

The QRF vehicle was a modified Spartan Armoured Fighting Vehicle, able to operate in a high magic environment. One of those mods had been the removal of the machine gun. There were just too many ways it could be hexed or cursed. An individual trooper could shield himself and his weapon with Magic and thereby be an effective fighting unit.

"Standby for Portkey deployment. Portkey deployment in 30 seconds."

" 'ang tight." The Sergeant growled, and set the example by wrapping one big fist around a steel brace. The other hand held a wand. Evan followed suit. Floo network was bad enough. Portkey was a guarantee of a hard landing, especially since they were homing on a target dropped from a broom flown by a man who sounded ... pretty busy.

Evan had a few seconds to think, _Well, maybe they were just winding up the new boy a bit ..._

With a crack as sudden as the slamming of a gigantic door, they were somewhere else. The Spartan hit hard, its tracks gouging out a big scar in the turf. It tilted up almost 45 degrees before slamming back down again with bone-rattling force.

A wash of flame hit the Spartan's side with a world-filling roar that was the big brother of the one he had heard before. The driver hadn't waited for orders. He had slammed the throttle to full and was taking evasive action. Under that was a chorus of _Protego, Protego, Protego_ as troopers cast Shield charms as they had planned.

 _Or not. Thank God we didn't throw a track on the landing._ Evan had thought about such a moment a hundred times, what it would be like to be under fire for the first time. He was eerily calm, wholly focused on the needs of survival and executing their plan to do so.

The Spartan slammed to a halt next to a spur of rock. Another blast of flame hit the rock. Looking through his periscope Evans saw the long reptilian neck and head of a dragon. It was moving around to the left. Very shortly the spur of rock would be no protection.

Suddenly a blurred shape flashed past the dragon's head. Its head twisted around trying to track on the shape. The shape arced up and hung in the air for a second, and Evan realized it was a man on a broom. The figure flashed back down again and a huge black cloud enveloped the dragon's head.

 _Well, so much for the plan._ Evan thought. Whoever the lunatic on the broom was, he had bought them a handful of precious seconds. There would never be a better opportunity.

"Dismount. Engage." He snapped, then slammed his hatch open and ducked to the side to let the sniper with his big rifle jump up past him. The clangs behind him said the hatches in the back had slammed open to allow the rest of his men to dismount.

Evan followed him up through the hatch in time to see the cloud around the dragon's head starting to clear. The beast's head was was side on to them, and as the cloud cleared he could see the reptilian eye of the monster blink. Then a literally ear-shattering crack exploded right next to his ear. Evan realized belatedly that standing right next to an L115A3 sniper rifle when it went off was rough on the hearing, even with the suppressor.

The dragon's eye vanished, leaving a pit of raw flesh where it had been, and the dragon's neck arched with agony and its mouth gaped wide. Two trails of smoke reached up toward the dragon's head. One missed, but the other vanished into the dragon's open mouth and detonated. Evan watched as a spray of blood and brains erupted from the creature's head in seeming slow motion. It collapsed to the ground, clearly dead.

The world sped up to a more normal pace, and Evan scanned around the sky with his binoculars. If there was one of these bloody things, there could be more.

"Sir." Came the gravel voice of Sergeant Crusher from behind and below him. "Casualty. Arnold. He's stable but he needs evac."

"Copy that. Pass me the 9-liner and I'll get it out." Evan realized that everyone was speaking louder than usual, not far off a shout. To be sure, they were all half deaf from the din of dragon fire and weapons fire. Evan's own right ear was ringing like a church bell. _Not to mention a lot of adrenaline._

 _Bloody hell. I need to get out a contact report._ Evan should have done that already, by reflex. All anyone at MMS knew was that there had been contact and QRF had responded.

He tapped the Dictaquill at the commander's station and began dictating.

Sir:

QRF deployed at 14:13 5 Jan 2001. Engaged and destroyed one (1) hostile dragon. Unknown if others in the area, remaining stood to at this time. Probable friendly personnel in area, not identified. One casualty, 9-liner attached. More to follow.

McKendrick

He ripped the parchment off and put it in the Out box. "Sergeant. Got the 9-liner?"

"Right 'ere."

Evan reached down and took the piece of paper, putting it in the Out box on top of the contact report.

"Rejoice, we conquer." Evan said firmly, and the papers vanished with a crack. The compressed format of the 9-liner report told a lot about the type and severity of the injuries. Time taken reading and unpacking that format was time taken from getting him to help.

He allowed himself a sigh of relief. He hadn't bothered with anything as unnecessary as "Request reinforcements." Stan the Man didn't need the new Lieutenant trying to make his decisions for him, and the facts spoke for themselves. There would be a relief force, but it was going to take some time to assemble.

"Crusher. Pass the word. We may have friendlies in the area. Identify before engaging. How's Arnold?"

Crusher - his name was also his nickname - hardly needed Magic to make himself heard. "Look alive, people. Contact report's out, so we'll 'ave company for tea in a bit. Beowulf says we've got friendlies in the area, so be careful of your target identification."

Crusher came up beside Evan and lowered his voice. "Arnold is pretty bad off. Burns from dragon fire. Some of it got in, no idea how. He's stable for the moment, but no guarantees on how long that moment is."

Evan grimaced. He was QRF Commander, and anything done or left undone that had caused that was on him. There would be an After Action Review, and all that would be hashed out in detail. He put that aside. "I'd like nothing better than to Portkey him out, but we can't spare the people."

Crusher nodded, whether in agreement or acceptance Evan wasn't sure and couldn't ask. It took a couple of people, minimum, three being better, to prep a casualty for Portkey transit and steady him through it so he wasn't hurt worse than he was already. They couldn't spare them. He would have to wait for the relief force.

"We know who the friendly is?" Crusher asked.

"Not for certain, but it's a pretty good bet that it was CWO's asset. He was the one that called in the clans and when we dropped in there was someone on a broom playing tag with the dragon. He was the one who popped smoke to blind the damned thing." Evan replied.

Crusher raised an eyebrow. "I think we owe him a pint."

McKendrick nodded agreement. Twenty or thirty priceless seconds to get themselves ready to fight. "Perhaps even two. I think I'll pass on applying for his job, though."

"Likewise. I think I'll take a turn around the positions now." Crusher replied.

Crusher dropped down into the main compartment. Evan stepped up into the hatch. The sniper was there, laying prone on the top of the vehicle.

"Sickle." Evan greeted him. He was nicknamed that because he could put three rounds into a sickle sized circle at 600 yards.

"Beowulf." He replied.

 _Quite a nickname I just won myself. Now I just have to live up to it._ "Decent shot you made. Do you think it would have been lethal?" Evan asked.

Shilling kept on scanning the area while he thought about that. "Probably not. The angle was wrong. It took out the eye all right, but there was no exit wound. I'd have seen that. I was loaded with jacketed, not armour-piercing, but I don't think that would have made much difference. For a kill shot you'd need to go through the back of the eye socket into the brain. If I could get it with its mouth open facing me, I could go for the brain stem."

"Thanks. Good to know." Evan replied.

 _Snipers can blind one but not kill it unless they get very lucky. The problem with magic is range. Getting close enough to use it effectively is ... problematic. We don't have an expert on dragon anatomy to hand. So much for it being easy._ Evan thought.

"Who goes there?" Evan and Shilling both swiveled their attention to the man on the broom who had come in to a gentle landing well back from the Spartan.

He raised his hands and replied "Long Live the Queen."

"Advance and be recognized." The man walked forward with his hands up in the manner of someone who knew very well how much firepower was trained on him.

"Halt." The man obeyed, then said, "I am Sir Harry Potter, Crown Wizard's Office. I am on Her Majesty's Service and I urgently need to speak to your commander."

The trooper glanced back to see Evan making the hand signal for "rally on me".

"Your lucky day, Sir Harry. He wants a word with you." The trooper escorted him up to the Spartan's steel side.

"Lieutenant. Thank you for coming to the rescue. Unfortunately, I don't think this is all of it." Potter - yes, it was definitely him - said soberly.

"Climb on up here, Sir Harry, and talk to me." Evan replied. Potter climbed up the Spartan's side nimbly.

"What's urgent?" Evan said. He repressed some comments about it would have been nice to know what the Hell we were getting into. In justice, he wasn't the only one having a bad day.

"There should be a cave down there, about 200 yards or so. We think there are a half dozen Death Eaters, at least one more dragon and a nest of dragon eggs in there."

 _Well, that's urgent._ "Crusher! Cave entrance 200 yards that way!" He pointed. "Eyes and weapons on it, now!" Evan shouted

Five men took off running, Crusher's tall figure at their head. They came to a skidding halt with weapons aimed. That included their last two rocket launchers.

 _Good, Crusher._ Evan hadn't ordered that, but an officer who didn't trust his Troop Sergeant didn't deserve his pips.

They were getting very thin on the ground. Ten people all up was nowhere near enough for what they might be facing, and knowing what they were facing would be a bloody fine idea.

"Brief me." Evan said.

Sir Harry nodded. "We were working off informant reports and other information of that sort, plus reports of disappearances. Informants don't lie to me, but they can be lied to or just mistaken. We had it narrowed down to three possible locations. My plan was to fly past each of them under my invisibility cloak and take photographs. The idea was to get confirmation before I raised the alarm. That ... didn't work out so well. They have some sort of wards on this area. You can get in, but the only way out is by Portkey. Hard to spot those wards from the outside. I should have looked harder. Invisibility doesn't seem to work very well on dragons. It knew I was there and it was trying to fry me. At that point all I could do was call for help and try to stay alive until it got here. Dammit, I should have known."

 _No plan survives contact with the enemy. Welcome to the club, Sir Harry._ Evan was a little concerned. There was learning from experience, which was good, and there was getting into a spiral of questioning yourself after the fact, not so good.

"Sir Harry, you made the best decisions you could with the information you had. It is very easy to be clever after the fact. I will point out that we are all still alive and the terrs have tipped their hand." He said.

He reached down and pulled up the DictaQuill, tapping it with his wand.

FLASH INTREP 001 Rated A1 15:17 5 Jan 2001

Sir:

CWO's asset reports the following:

Evan tapped the DictaQuill again to pause it, and handed it to Sir Harry. "Please repeat everything you told me."

Sir Harry did so, less some of the editorial comment. Evan dropped it into the Out box and sent it.

"It really bothers me that the cloak didn't work. It always has before." Potter said.

"Perhaps it worked perfectly well, Sir Harry." Evan replied. "As I understand it, the cloak works by bending light around itself so that it appears that nothing is there. Perhaps it only works on visible light."

Potter's reply was a puzzled look. Evan continued, with the dual purpose of distracting Sir Harry and learning more about their adversary.

"The light we see by is a very small slice of a much larger spectrum. There is a type of light called infrared, which is given off by all objects according to their temperature. The human eye cannot see this light. There are reptiles that can sense this light and use it to hunt in the dark. It would not surprise me if dragons have this ability."

Harry nodded. "That makes sense. But if so, why did the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder work? It was definitely blinded and confused by that. Hang on, that's it. The spell on the powder is a very simple one. It absorbs all light. That would include invisible light."

 _Her Majesty does not not give her confidence to fools. No surprise, that._ "That makes sense." He said and reached for his wand again.

Sir:

FLASH INTREP 002 Rated A2 15:35 5 Jan 2001.

Post analysis indicates dragons can probably sense infrared. Invisibility of limited use. Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder is an effective countermeasure.

McKendrick

Evan looked at his watch. Time to go around the positions. Some things you didn't find out unless you asked or saw for yourself.

"Sir Harry, I have some things I need to see to. I will ask you to stay here."

"But I could..."

"No, Sir Harry. This area is not secure. You are safer here than anywhere else. When the relief force comes, my commander will wish to speak to you." Evan said as firmly as he could.

"All right." He said reluctantly. Evan had to take him at his word. Sickle had his own job to do and couldn't be spared to watch a VIP.

Evan dropped down into the crew compartment. The driver, Pebbles was the nickname, was looking after Arnold. He doubled in brass as a medic. Arnold was bandaged and had a saline drip set up. "How is he?''

Arnold didn't look good. He was unconscious. Judging by the bandages, the burns covered his upper left leg, left arm and left chest. The smell said that they were deep and serious.

"Not very good. I've got him on saline and morphine, but his vitals are worse. He needs a hospital."

"The 9-liner is out. As soon as the relief force arrives he'll go out to hospital. They won't be long now." Evan kept his tone as light and confident as he could.

 _Now I know how Wellington felt at Waterloo. Would that night or Blucher would come. Night's not worth a worn penny to me, but Stan Lee isn't Blucher. He can't jump in here half cocked, but he's not going to waste a second._

He went around the positions. No one had seen anything suspicious. Everyone had the same question. "When is the relief force coming?"

"Soon." Wasn't a very satisfying answer, but it was all he had.

He climbed back up to the Spartan's command position and checked the In box. Nothing, as expected. Telling him what he already knew would waste time that would be much better used preparing. It would have made him feel better, though.

Sir Harry was still up top, which was good. He was using _Supersensory Ocularis_ to scan the area. Harmless and in fact useful. They had few enough eyes.

An ear-splitting crack brought Evan around with his sidearm and wand drawn. Not fifty yards away was another Spartan command vehicle, this one flying the flag of the Commander of MMS.

 _Thank God._ Evan thought. The relief force had come at last.


	7. Chapter 7 The Hard Way

**Chapter 7 The Hard Way**

The command vehicle roared up and came to a skidding halt alongside Evan's Spartan. Stan the Man was in the command position. "Beowulf. Sir Harry. Good to see you. Catch me up."

Evan gave him a rapid-fire update on the tactical situation. The conversation was punctuated with a drum roll of cracks as armoured vehicles appeared on the flat area and immediately accelerated ahead.

A few minutes later Crusher and the men at the cave mouth had been relieved by a full Troop of the MMS. Anything that came out of the mouth of that cave would face the firepower of two 30 mm automatic cannon backed by the magic of thirty soldiers. Arnold was gone, transported to St. Mungo's by a medical team.

"Sir Harry, what do we know about the interior of this cave?" The Man asked.

"Very little, I'm afraid, sir. Exploring caves is a recognized hobby, but this one is remote and little known. The main entrance collapsed a few weeks ago and three members of the local potholers club went missing. It was written off as an accident. Spelunking isn't the safest of hobbies. By what I don't think is a coincidence, their clubhouse burned down at about the same time and their maps or notes on the caves they'd been exploring went with it."

"What's the little?" Stan the Man said.

Harry pulled a battered notebook from his pocket. "I got this from the family of one of the missing spelunkers. It was made several years ago, around the time when they first started exploring the cave."

The map was done in pencil, folded into the back pocket of the notebook. Harry spread it out on the steel top deck of the Spartan. "This is what we put together from the diary. I wasn't even sure that it referred to this cave. That was one of the things that I was trying to verify. This ..." He pointed to a marking with a couple of notes by it. "corresponds to the main entrance. The landmark matches. The main entrance was caved in, which correlates with the disappearance. It was open and stable at the time of their last visit."

The main entrance led back into a large chamber, marked as the Big Room. Four passages led off the Big Room. Three were marked with question marks. The fourth had "Secondary Entrance?" written beside it. There was a note that described a spire of rock by the entrance.

"The landmark on the side matches, so that's probably one. We don't know if there are any other entrances. We don't have much detail on the interior, either." Evan said, looking down at the map. He didn't like where this was going, but he wasn't paid to like it.

"Suggestions, Beowulf?" Stan the Man said. Juniormost first meant people were more likely to speak their minds.

"Just caving in the entrances is not on. We don't know enough about the layout, or the other entrances. Using rocket launchers inside the cave is an unacceptable risk. They should stay outside with the goalkeepers. Accurate heavy calibre rifle fire targeted at the eyes or the open mouth would work. _Bombarda_ would have the same problem as rocket launchers, and less penetration on heavy armour. Instant Darkness Powder is a good countermeasure." Evan said, hoping he wasn't repeating the obvious but preferring that to missing something important.

The Man nodded. "That's the start of a plan. We're going to have to go into the cave in very short tactical bounds, ready to use countermeasures. I've sent back for Weasley's entire stock."

"This is a cave rather than a building, but we do train for this. Sir Harry, what type of stone is this cave composed of?''

"Limestone. There'll be flowing water inside, likely pools of it as well. That's what creates the cave in the first place." He replied, checking his notes again.

Evan nodded. "Saves them the trouble of finding a water supply. Also, another strike against trying to wait them out."

"I can't say I'm fond of the idea of going in there on foot." Evan added.

Sir Harry looked thoughtful, then turned up his notes. "Perhaps we don't have to. Where, ... yes, here. We know they were moving meat in here by the hundredweight, and it's a good bet they were using this passage. Now it says here, 'The entrance was narrow, but it opened up into a glorious broad passage, as wide as a main highway and slanting down to the Big Room.' It makes sense that's how they'd be moving their supplies in."

Stan the Man smiled briefly. "Well, now. Armour and 30 mm cannon ought to even the scales a bit. We'd need to open up that entrance, though. Explosives, that's dicy. Risk of a cave-in."

"Not necessary. We can use _Diffindo_ to slice off the rock, and _Windardium Leviosa_ to move the pieces, just levitate the pieces out." Sir Harry said.

"That works." Came from around the table.

Stan the Man nodded decisively. "Here's the plan, then. Beowulf, we'll want a recce patrol into the entrance, as far as where it opens out, confirm that and get us dimensions. Pity we don't have a Pensieve here, but notebooks get issued to be used. Recce only, Beowulf. If you make contact, pop smoke and get the hell out of it."

Evan nodded and started making notes in his notebook, planning the entry. It made sense for him to lead it, as knowing more about dragons than anyone else. It was a pity they couldn't use night vision equipment, but the rule was simple. Magic or electricity, pick one. Chemical reactions or mechanical technology, all fine. MMS was still working on how to blend magic and technology, and there would be some lessons come out of this. Evan intended to make sure that he and his people were around to learn and apply them.

The rest of the Troop Commanders got their taskings. It didn't take long. Stan the Man did it in his accustomed style, just telling them what he wanted done and leaving them to get on with it.

It was about a half hour later that Beowulf led a six man patrol into the cave. He'd planned this as well as he could, following the rule that the ideal recce patrol was composed of invisible cowards. Sir Harry had wanted to come along under his invisibility cloak, but Stan the Man had shut that down in a hurry, pointing out that the cloak wasn't useful against dragons and Sir Harry was much more valuable in the command group.

Evan had scouted out and marked a safe Apparation point, and made sure all his people could pop to it without hesitation. The glow of the entrance quickly faded into the moist darkness of the cave passage. They went in slow bounds, with Evan sketching the cross-sections at intervals and eyeballing the dimensions while his people kept sharp watch down the tunnel with their weapons ready. That entailed the risk of using _Lumos_ , which was better than chem sticks because it could be doused instantly.

It was about fifty feet down the passage when Evan smiled in relief. Just as the diary had described, the passage opened up into a wide tunnel, at least twenty-five feet wide and higher than it was wide. Beowulf risked a flash of _Lumos Maxima_ , and saw that it ran down at a gentle gradient out of sight. There were some shallow pools of water here and there. Evan suspected that this would be a lot less passable when the weather was wet, but they had that luck. Dry summer weather.

He established another Apparation point in a small alcove off the main passage, using spray paint to mark it. About another fifty feet onward there was what looked to be a side passage. They ghosted down that far, and it was. Evan and Crusher went cautiously down the side passage. It was a short one, and it ended in a vertical shaft with a trickle of water running down the walls. There was a gleam of sunlight coming from the top, masked off by trees.

Crusher pointed. "Claw marks. That's how the dragons come and go."

Evan nodded, and made quick notes. "We put a cork in this bottle, and it helps quite a lot right there."

They went back to the main passage. The rest of the patrol were there, weapons aimed down the passageway.

Suddenly a voice came down the passage, faint with distance even in the silence of the cave. It was accompanied by a flash of light. "'Oo's there?"

Evan didn't even have to think about the next move. He raised his hands above his head and cut them down in the signal that said " _Apparate_!". Six cracks and thirty seconds later they were gone, Evan last.

Blinking in the welcome sunlight after the darkness of the cave, Evan headed over to the command group. Referring to his notes, he briefed the command group on what he had seen.

"I think they're alerted, at least suspicious. There was at least one of them who heard something, and they would definitely have heard us when we Apparated out." He finished off.

 _Hindsight is 20-20, but maybe we could have withdrawn quietly and not tipped them off._

Stan the Man might have read his mind, which to be sure was the legitimate prerogative of the Commander MMS. "Time was more important than stealth at that point, Beowulf. Good decision."

The idea of making any use of the vertical shaft died very quickly. It was most of the way up the hill in a copse of trees. The hill itself was treacherous, crumbling rock and scree.

The working parties were already detailed, and shortly big chunks of stone were floating out of the tunnel entrance to the accompaniment of _Diffindo Maxima_ and _Wingardium Leviosa_.

It didn't take long at all before there was a big pile of broken rock off to one side and a neat entrance, big enough for two armoured vehicles abreast was open before them.

The lead element was the three Scimitars of Z Troop, with their 30 mm cannon loaded up with Armour Piercing Secondary Effect and the gun crews with their wands ready to protect the guns against being hexed or cursed.

Evan grinned briefly and set his teeth. _Comes a time when you just lead trumps._

The Instant Darkness Powder had come in and been distributed, priority to the lead elements. It would have been nice if the countermeasure dispensers on the vehicles had been retained, but nice was off having a pint as it so often was for soldiers.

As they passed the side passage, Evan saw where the lead crews had used _Diffindo Maxima_ to bring down the roof. It was corked up properly with big chunks of rock. A mouse might be able to find a way through it, if he was lucky and persistent.

The roar of engines and the squeaks and scrapes of steel on steel echoed down the passageway. _Lumos Maxima_ substituted for the headlights.

"Contact!" The shout, amplified by _Sonorus_ , was hardly needed. The flashbulb glares of dragon fire told that story for itself. It was followed immediately by the roar of 30 mm autocannon, firing three shot bursts.

When they came out into the Big Room, which lived up to its name with its extent far beyond the lights on the vehicles, the scene that Evan saw told its own story. The vehicles of Z troop had emerged right into an ugly close quarters fight with a dragon. Z2 was on its side, scorched with dragon fire all along one side and the three man crew taking cover beside it. One of them was clearly badly burned. Medics bailed off the command vehicle to give first aid and get him evac'd. The other two Scimitars were stopped out in the room, ready to fire on any attack.

The body of the dragon told a grim story, too. The heavy hide over most of a dragon's body was tough indeed, enough that a 30 mm cannon round would hurt it but not penetrate deeply enough to be lethal or even crippling. The vee where the neck ran into the body was a weak point, and one of the gunners had spotted that and been able to hit it. The head was untouched, which made good sense to Evan. It would be a small target, moving around unpredictably.

"Left!" Evan shouted to his driver.

The Spartan slewed around to the left and came to a halt at Evan's order with a grinding sound of steel treads on the stone floor of the cave.

"Dismount!" Evan shouted, jumping down the steel side of the armoured vehicle. He landed in a crouch with his SA-80 rifle up and ready. The other troopers and Crusher formed upon him and at his energetic signal they made a tactical move to a spur of rock. The fate of Z2 was a broad hint that armoured vehicles attracted dragon fire.

They had barely made the move when an explosion dug a hole in the stone floor, peppering them with rocks and dust.

"High on the right! Suppression fire!" Crusher shouted, and hard on his order bursts of rifle fire dug chunks out of the stone wall.

Another _Bombarda_ hit the stone in response, but it went wide of them. They moved in the skirmishers triangle, covering each other with suppression fire as they moved. Evan was running on the reactions he had spent years of training to acquire. It seemed a long time, amid the staccato of gunfire and the roar of explosions, before they made it to a spur of rock flanking the position where the unseen enemy wizard was holed up. They still could not see all of him, because the gunfire had driven him to cover. He was casting blind.

The next time he exposed himself to cast, a hail of gunfire from Evan and his men sent his wand flying from a wounded and useless arm.

"Surrender!" Evan shouted, leading the way up the narrow water-slick ledge. The man who stepped out from behind the rock was wearing a battered bowler hat, purple with an electric blue band. His coarse, brutal unshaven face was twisted into a grimace of pain and hatred.

"All right, soldier boy, you got me ..." He started to say.

Evan watched in shock as he was suddenly wreathed in a pillar of flame. The heat from it was painful, as sudden as a slap. Evan started back, almost knocking the man behind him off the slick, narrow ledge. The roar of the flames lasted for a minute, then died as suddenly as it had appeared. Where he had been there was a divot in the stone and a cloud of grey dust, too fine to be called ash.

An eddy of the dust reached Evan and he coughed. From behind him he heard Crusher shout, "Back! That's quicklime, that is."

After they had jumped and scrambled their way back down to the cave floor Evan belatedly recalled his high school chemistry. Intense heat turned limestone into quicklime. Nastily corrosive, and not something you wanted to breath in.

"Well, we'll not be interrogating that one." Evan said.

"That we won't, Beowulf. Fiendfyre. Somebody found a new way to motivate 'em. They get captured, or try to surrender, and the candle gets lit. Nasty." Crusher replied, scanning the big chamber for new threats.

"Death Eaters. Those people make nasty look good. We don't bother trying to take prisoners. Use magic or firepower, whatever works, but stay away from _Bombarda_. Let's not bring down the roof." Evan replied. He checked his ammo pouches by habit, and didn't like what he found. He looked around at his men. Battered looking, filthy with smoke and rock dust, but all there and good to go. Minor cuts and bruises didn't count.

"All right, back to the track and ammo up." Even said. They made it back to the Spartan and raided the spare ammo in the steel cases. They spent what seemed a long time to Evan ramming round from the stripper clips into the magazines.

They emerged from the track again, and Evan heard a voice in his ear. It was possible to make a _Sonorus_ spell directional. It wasn't as good as a radio, but it worked in a high magic environment.

It was Stan the Man. "Beowulf, good to go?"

Evan flipped his wand. "Good to go."

"Passage. Other side of the cavern. Recce and report." The Man replied.

"On it." Evan replied, then looked around to plan the move on the battlefield this cave had become. The wizard they had taken down appeared to be the only one in that area. Evan made his plan instantly, and communicated it with hand signals. They would move to the wall in the area of their first fight, then along the wall of the cave toward the passageway they were ordered to recce.

They made it to the cavern wall without any problems. Evan had his head on a swivel the whole time. The Scimitars at the entrance were down to firing single rounds. 165 cannon rounds sounded like a lot, until you were in a hot close fight like this. They could call down fire support if they needed it, but they'd better need it pretty badly.

Quite abruptly the cave was lit up by a flare of light and the roar of Fiendfyre. They stayed in cover until it died away.

"Move." Evan ordered. They moved along the wall by tactical bounds, cover to cover. They were about half way there when another roar of flame caused them to freeze as the glare lit up the cavern.

 _Another Death Eater down, I suppose._ Evan turned his head and discovered that he was wrong. The passageway they had been assigned to recce was occupied. A dragon had just emerged from it, breathed flame and was mounting into the air with sweeps of its huge wings.

 _Recce Report. Assigned area contains one (1) hostile dragon, probably a female brooding eggs or hatchlings._ "Single shot. Aimed fire only. Go for the eyes or the mouth." Evan said, then raised his own rifle to take an aim.

 _This is going to be hard._ The eyes were a small target at this range and the head of the dragon was moving around unpredictably. Hard wasn't impossible, though. The SA-80 was reckoned the most accurate infantry rifle in the world, and the MMS took the British Army marksmanship standard as a minimum.

Evan aimed and squeezed off, missed, and kept right on shooting. Irregular cracks of rifle fire from all around the cave said that the other leaders had made the same call that he had. A louder explosion on the dragon's flank said that the Scimitars were in to fight, too, but there wasn't much damage there.

 _Good news all bloody over. They have to be out of Armour Piercing. HE isn't going to do a lot of good at this rate. If we could just get the damned thing to hold still for a minute ..._ Evan squeezed off another round, didn't see where it went but was sure that it hadn't hit, and re-acquired his sight picture.

Stan the Man's voice rolled across the cavern, _Sonorus_ to all. "Cease fire, cease fire."

By drilled reflex Evan and his men had safetied and lowered their weapons, and when the small arms fire ceased all around the cavern he was sure that everyone had got the word, which was not a certainty in a bloody goat rope like this.

A blurred figure, a man on a broomstick, rocketed toward the dragon and moved to dodge the firebloom it threw in his direction. The broom rider slashed past the dragon's head and a black cloud exploded into existence near the dragon's head. He arced up, barely avoiding the roof of the cavern, and came back down in another pass on the dragon. Another cloud bloomed into existence, and this one enveloped the whole dragon. Blinded and confused, it went into a hover with the cloud of black powder swirling around it as its wings beat.

Evan raised his rifle to take a bead. Behind him he heard Crusher, "Safeties on, wait for the word, wait for it."

Sir Harry, it had to be him, dove down and pulled out just in time to avoid hitting the cave floor.

"Open fire!" Stan the Man's voice was at the volume of an angry god.

Evan heard Crusher's voice from behind him, harsh and controlled. "Take your aim. Wait for it. Make your round pay!"

As the black cloud cleared, Evan took his bead on the eye and squeezed off. The reports of rifle fire from around him with the heavy boom of Sickle's rifle somewhere in the middle said that Crusher's order had been obeyed. Whoever might actually have made the hit, he saw the eye chewed into a pit of raw flesh.

"Cover!" Evan said, and set the example. The damned thing was only half blind, and it had its mouth open to breathe as it turned its head to search for the source of its agony.

It never got around to them. A stationary target with the mouth open was what the Scimitar gunners had undoubtedly been praying for, and they made the most of it. The roar of automatic cannon fire slammed through the chamber, and the dragon fell to the floor, headless.

Evan looked up apprehensively as a rain of debris fell down from the roof behind where the dragon's head had been, but that was all.

He took a few seconds to breathe deeply and savour the feeling of being alive. Then he went back to the thought that he'd had some few eternities ago. It was a good bet that there were eggs, harmless, or hatchlings, not nearly so harmless. A dragon could breathe flame a minute after it was hatched, and they grew fast.

They were all gasping for breath by the time they got to the entrance of the passageway out of the cave. They had barely got there when Evan's suspicion was confirmed. The head of a small dragon, perhaps a third the size of the female's, extended out of the entrance and looked around. When it saw them, its mouth opened. Evan didn't know why and cared not at all.

Bursts of automatic fire into the open mouth put the hatchling down, dead with its head chewed into an unrecognizable mess. There were other hatchlings in the room behind that entrance. He could hear leathery slitherings and angry sounding hisses.

Evan tapped his wand and pointed it at Stan the Man in his command vehicle. "I have multiple hatchling dragons, one down. Permission to use Fiendfyre."

The answer came after a two beat pause. "Granted."

"Clear!" Evan shouted, and his men lost no time in taking cover well clear of the entrance.

 _"Fiendfyre!"_ Evan dove to one side to avoid the gout of devouring flame that licked out of the entrance and then slowly died away.

Evan gave it five minutes by his watch after the roar of the flames died away before he peeked inside through the entrance. The room was a large one, but it had no other entrance. It contained the charred remnants of dragons, meat bones and dragon dung.

Evan flicked his wand. "Beowulf here. Room cleared, no other exits."

"Well done, Beowulf. Stand by and await orders." Stan the Man replied.

With nothing in particular for them to do in the next few minutes, Evan could sit back on the wonderful comfort of the irregular stone floor and gratefully enjoy the sensation of being able to sit and do nothing. He and his people were all alive. That made it a very, very good day.


	8. Chapter 8 Hot Wash

**Chapter 8 Hot Wash**

Evan glanced around to see all the Troop Commanders and Troop Sergeants were gathered around a table, notebooks in hand. A Hot Wash was a meeting conducted right after an op, when everything was still fresh in people's minds. The purpose was to look at what had gone right, what had gone wrong, and what could have been done better. Evan noticed that Sir Harry was also there, looking a little uncertain. It made sense. He had, after all, been an integral part of the op.

Stan the Man tossed up the Quidditch balls with Sir Harry. "How did you identify this site?"

Sir Harry went through the investigation from the first informant report to how he had identified the three possible sites. It hadn't been easy. Informants who might or might not know what they were talking about, dragon sightings from people who might be mistaken or outright delusional, disappearances that might or might not be connected. The dragon connection had been passed on as possibly useful but not confirmed. Evan could understand why he would want hard evidence before putting out a full report and calling in the clans.

"I appreciate your reluctance to cry wolf, Sir Harry. Your willingness to run risks on Her Majesty's Service is commendable. You do need to learn to measure those risks better. Had you passed those locations to us, we could have tasked assets that would have been able to do the reconnaissance at much less cost and risk." Was Stan the Man's verdict.

"In addition, your actions in the cavern reflect commendable courage and initiative. They were not ordered by, or coordinated with, the Commander. Such actions have the strong potential for fratricide. By good fortune and the quick reaction of all involved, that did not occur. One does not rely on luck, Sir Harry." The Man's manner was that of a god of justice passing judgement on a flawed creation.

Harry's response died unspoken as Lee added, "I am quite sure Her Majesty would agree with me on this."

What came out was, "Yes, sir. I did not think about that."

"Form the habit." was the even reply. The Man's face could have been hammered from iron.

Sir Harry looked shaken and nodded acceptance. Evan spared him some sympathy. That hard cold look from the Man was more of a rebuke than a screaming tirade from a lesser man.

It was Evan's turn on the griddle next. He described the details of his plan with the QRF before the Portkey jump. For the most part his plan passed scrutiny, with one exception.

"Did your plan consider the use of countermeasures?" The Man asked.

"No, it did not, Sir." Evan said. _And it should have, dammit. Use of smoke is standard. Sir Harry being there with that Peruvian Darkness Powder in his pocket was luck, and you don't rely on luck._

"Lesson learned, Beowulf." The Man said.

"How did Trooper Arnold get burned?" Stan the Man asked next.

"We made the Portkey deployment buttoned up. The port at his position was missing altogether and that was how the flame got in. Whether the port failed or was left open I was unable to determine." Evan said.

"That needs looking at more closely." Lee said.

"I'm on it." Evan replied. If it was equipment failure, it certainly needed to be put to rights. If it was human error, that would have to be addressed, too. Soldiering was a pitiless business, and details mattered. The ports had been a modification to the vehicle. British Army doctrine was that you dismounted from your vehicle to fight. MMS needed to be able to cast spells from inside the vehicle.

Then they got to the tactical analysis. This was broad brush. The details of individual soldiers were left to the Troop Commanders and their right hands, the Troop Sergeants.

Evan started that discussion. "Here's some food for thought. When we took down the first Death Eater, we used a lot of suppressive fire to get into position. He was throwing _Bombarda_ 's around indiscriminately. Not as if he had a lot to lose. By the time we were done, we had to go back to the track to re-ammo."

"You never have enough ammo." Cannon replied. He was the Z Troop Commander.

"True. We could use what we have more effectively if we used magic for suppression instead of firearms. Right now our tactical doctrine is magic for defence, firearms for offence. We need to rethink that. Magic doesn't have an ammo allowance." Evan replied.

"Firearms have better range, penetration and accuracy." The Z Troop Commander replied.

"That's true. None of which is needed when you simply want to keep the enemy's head down so you can move tactically." Evan replied.

The Man raised his hand and they both fell silent. "Valid point. We aren't going to resolve this discussion today. Beowulf, take your time to think this through and write up a proposed change. We'll need to run some training exercises to evaluate the proposal."

The Y Troop Commander gestured to bring attention to himself. "Air support. We saw today that one man on a broom can bring value to the fight."

Evan looked dubious. There was a reason that non-magical military forces fielded armoured vehicles. "A man on a broom is vulnerable."

"So's a helicopter, and the broom rider is a smaller and more elusive target. There's the Statute concern as well. Every time we deploy the vehicles, we risk a Statute violation. Brooms are a lot less noticeable, and faster as well." He replied.

"We have good procedures for covering that over, both here and at MoD." Evan replied.

"The risk you don't take is the one that doesn't come back to bite you." He replied. That discussion got put over to another day as well.

The Hot Wash went on. Rank did not exempt anyone, and everything was on the table. Finally they came to the end of the op.

"Overall, the mission was a success. We took out a nest of Death Eaters and the dragons they were preparing to loose on the people of Britain. There were things that could have been done better, but all performed well." Stan the Man summed up.

He turned his attention to Harry. "Sir Harry, there are some questions for the civil side. Whether CWO is adequately resourced for these investigations wants looking at, rather carefully. If dragons are not considered weapons of mass destruction, they should be. It seems to have been dismaying easy for these terrorists to get their hands on dragon eggs. Measures to deal with that problem are needed. There is also the matter of what other means of mass destruction may be going unnoticed."

Sir Harry nodded and made notes. Stan the Man went around the table handing out tasks. Evan got off fairly lightly, having to write the book on fighting dragons in addition to the tactical doctrine paper that he had already been assigned.

Lee dismissed the meeting with a nod, and went off to his office.

Evan tapped Harry on the shoulder. "Sir Harry, I do believe I owe you a pint."

"Well, how about if we each buy one and call it even." He replied.

They went into the Mess and ordered drinks at the bar.

"Is it always this tough? I suppose that I should have said something to someone, but there wasn't much time for me to act." Harry asked a little plaintively.

Evan took a pull from his pint. "You got off lightly, Sir Harry. The Man treats errors toward the enemy leniently. Let us not discuss how he deals with the other sort."

"A lot of things were done right. There was almost nothing said about that." Harry said, visibly changing the subject off one he preferred not to contemplate.

Evan chuckled. "This one went well. You don't want to be at the table for a failure. It's supposed to be tough. If something worked well, that's good but there's nothing to learn there. Mistakes and problems are where the lessons to be learned are. If you don't learn from your mistakes you repeat them. Not something we can afford. If there is a problem with equipment, like the port in the vehicle, then it needs to be found and set to rights."

"I made mistakes." Harry said, and took a long pull of his lager.

"So did I, and so did others." Evan replied. "Don't repeat them next time."

"Next time?" Harry said.

"There will be one, Sir Harry. Depend on it." Evan said. That was just a fact of life for soldiers.

Sir Harry looked serious and thoughtful, and took another long pull of his lager. "This only came to me by luck. There was a lot of luck, actually. That informant report could have been filed and forgotten if it hadn't mentioned my father. The non-Magical police had pieces of the puzzle they didn't know were important. The Aurors had closed the file on the Death Eaters. They were all dead or in prison, and they had plenty to do elsewhere. As I have just had pointed out to me rather firmly, you don't depend on luck."

"That's a rather disquieting thought." Evan said.

"It is that. Here's another one. If Bellatrix Lestrange had her own group of followers, how many other Death Eaters had them as well?" He replied.

"That's disquieting." Evan agreed.

He tapped his glass, thinking. "There were, what, thirty odd marked Death Eaters?"

Harry nodded. "Almost all of them are dead. Snape got off with a light sentence for cooperating. He was Dumbledore's agent for years, so that's no surprise. Edgecombe got some sort of deal to dodge the rope, not that life in Azkaban was much better." Harry replied.

"Any chance they'd know anything?" Evan asked.

"Doubtful." Harry said. "The Death Eaters were in constant competition for Voldemort's favour. They didn't trust each other at all. They'd keep their cards face down as long as they could. Edgecombe was a weak link, low in Voldemort's favour. Anything Snape knew he would have reported to Dumbledore."

"Dammit." Harry added, and drained his pint. "Thinking. I should stop doing that. I have the authority to investigate any threat to the Realm, and the obligation to either do so myself or report it to someone who can. The Aurors can't. They have to have grounds to believe a crime has been committed. If I put it up to the Chief Wizard, he would point out that he has someone on his staff who is ideally qualified to conduct such an inquiry."

"Well. If we're going to regret being such bloody fools as to take up the Queen's shilling, we're going to need more beer." Evan said, and signaled to the barman.

After the next round of pints arrived, Evan decided that he might as well press on. "Sir Harry, do you mind some advice?"

Harry took a pull of his pint, smiled, and said, "People who save my life are welcome to give all the advice they want."

Evan said, firmly, "You can't do all this yourself. If you had a desk, it would already have three files on it, any of which could keep you busy full-time. The Death Eater inquiry, the black market in dragon eggs, and how to spot someone who has a lethal curse that triggers by situation and outlives the caster of that curse. Worse than Imperius in its own way. Imperius dies with the caster. Means to find and remove that curse so that you can actually interrogate that person would be good, too. Not to mention that such a person could be used as a suicide bomber rather effectively."

He paused, waited for Harry's look of understanding, then went on, "You need an organization. Non-Magical Britain has MI-5, the Security Service. It exists to deal with threats to the Realm that can't be dealt with by the police or the military. Magical Britain has no such organization. Clearly, there's a need for one. I don't see anyone else who could build it."

"That sounds like a bloody awful amount of work." Harry said dubiously.

"It is. There's an end to it, though. Comes the day that it's up and running and you've trained your successor, you can retire to a quiet life and leave it to the organization." Evan replied.

"Quiet life. That sounds good. I tried to do that, but the Queen wouldn't have it." Harry replied, looking wistful.

"I don't read Her Majesty's mind, but I'd say that was because you were irreplaceable. If you want to retire, change that. Make yourself replaceable. People are mortal. Organizations are a lot harder to kill. If I drop dead, Sergeant Crusher steps up without a moment lost. If Major Lee gets sick or retires, the second in command and the Troop Commanders are in line to take over."

"So it's like a Quidditch team. You have reserves and you train new players. That makes sense. So how do I go about this?" Harry said plaintively.

"You said it yourself, Harry. You take this bag of basilisks to the Chief Wizard and he says 'Yes, this is a threat to the Realm. Go get 'em, Harry my boy.' To which you reply 'I can't do it all myself. I need money and I need people.' Then you put a list of what and who you need in front of him. He can't ignore you because he's already admitted that there's a threat to the Realm." Evan said.

"Why would anyone want to ignore this?" Harry said, looking puzzled.

"The Chief Wizard will have to go to the Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot and tell them they have to cough up money for the Defence of the Realm, and no, they can't know the details or have any say in how it gets spent." Evan replied.

"They'll love that." Harry said.

Evan nodded. "Then there's people. Who would you hire first?"

"Tonks." Harry replied instantly.

"The only Metamorphmagus in DMLE. They won't like losing her."

"Now you're making me want to ignore this." Harry said. "But I can't."

"All right, how do you do this plan?" Harry said.

Evan smiled. "Business plans are a lot less glamorous than battle plans, but they are just as necessary. There's an old saying. Money is the sinew of war. It binds the effort together. That's how those armoured vehicles were there and ready to go on the day. The Man wrote that plan and pushed it through. Your first plan doesn't need to be the chapter and verse, just a draft. You can say you want to borrow Tonks for the period of the investigation. DMLE will see through that, I expect, but they'll have less grounds to object."

Evan pulled out a pen and started writing on a napkin. "Money - CWO will have to raid his piggy bank, at least for a while. You'll need a desk, office space, some place to keep files. It will grow, depend on that. Later on, you'll need to get more detailed. Add in anyone else you need, and be generous in your estimates of money. You may not get all you ask for, but it's for certain that you won't get what you don't ask for."

Harry looked thoughtful. "I'm not all that good at that sort of thing. I'd need someone who's brilliant, organized and methodical. I know someone like that. I suspect her boss wouldn't like losing her, either."


	9. Chapter 9 Royal Summons

**Chapter 9 Summons to the Palace**

Harry was finishing his breakfast when the doorbell rang. He was in Sirius' non-magical house in Pease Pottage being visible to make up for the time during Operation Beowulf when he … hadn't been. It was probably just a delivery, but his hand was close to his wand all the same.

The man at the door was dressed in an archaic uniform. It took Harry a moment to recognize him as a footman at Buckingham Palace.

"Sir Harry James Potter?" he said politely and formally.

"The same." Harry replied.

"With Her Majesty's compliments. This will open only to your wand, Sir Harry." He handed over a letter, parchment with the Royal coat of arms on the flap. The attitude of polite patience said he was going to wait for that to happen. Harry drew his wand and tapped the letter, which opened up into a single sheet of paper, the Queen's own personal letterhead.

"Give you good day, Sir Harry." The footman said. Then he was gone.

Harry read the letter and stood frozen with shock.

"Harry." Sirius' voice drifted in from the next room. "What got delivered?"

When he didn't get an answer, Sirius came through the door into the entryway with his wand in his hand. "You all right?" He demanded.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, I'm fine." Harry replied, distractedly.

"You don't sound fine." Sirius said. "What is that?"

"That is a Royal Summons." Harry replied.

"Say bloody **what**?" Sirius said. He took the letter from Harry's hand. Sure enough, it was. Sirius had seen one before. Of course, last time they'd asked to be summoned. Sir Harry James Potter was summoned to an audience with Her Majesty and Prince Philip at …

"Merlin's saggy left bollock." Sirius said in disbelief. The audience was today at 1:00 pm. The Queen's schedule was blocked out weeks and months in advance. Somebody of the weight of a head of state or an ambassador would have been summarily kicked off the schedule at no notice to make room for this. Prince Philip - much the same there.

Sirius rounded on Harry as an awful thought occurred to him. "Pup, have you been up to something?"

Harry returned his look levelly. "Well, I played tag with a couple of dragons, but I really did have a good reason for that."

"Anything that could be scandalous?" Sirius pursued. Harry wasn't an ordinary person on the street. A scandal about him reflected on the Queen.

He shrugged. "If I'm seen in public with a female who's younger than 60, the Prophet starts planning the wedding and naming the children. I haven't done any of that lately. I've been rather busy."

Sirius' mind began to work again. He glanced at his watch. It was now 8:25. "Kreacher."

Kreacher apparated in with a snap. "Yes, Master."

"Master Harry is summoned to an audience with the Queen. His very best clothes, cleaned and pressed to within an inch of their life, five minutes ago."

"Yes, Master." Kreacher vanished.

"Harry, into the bathroom with you." Sirius said.

When Harry gave him a blank look, he added, "Or do you want to appear before the Queen looking scruffy and unshaven?"

Harry took the hint and bolted for the loo. Sirius heard the sound of running water.

Sirius quickly scribbled a note and got it away by owl. His desk at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was going to have to do without him for the day.

They Apparated to a safe spot near the Palace. Sirius checked for the fifth time that Harry had his Summons, then ran a careful eye over his turnout. Harry was wearing a non-magical suit from a Savile Row tailor, his Hogwarts tie, and shoes shone to the standard of a Guards Regiment courtesy of Kreacher. Even his unruly hair was in better order than usual.

"All right, Harry, off with you now. You've time in hand, but none to waste."

"I've got plenty of time, Sirius." Harry said plaintively. "Palace security knows who I am."

"There's always someone who doesn't get the word. Early is remediable. Late isn't." Sirius replied.

Sirius was more right than Harry wanted to admit. Palace security was tight and the procedures were strict. Harry had the privilege of retaining his wand in the presence of the Sovereign, but a couple of people had to be convinced of that. Eventually one of the Palace servants saw him to a waiting room with an ornate sofa and chairs, and asked him if he wanted anything. He settled for a glass of water.

The clock on the wall said he had fifteen minutes. That was fifteen minutes to sip at his water and wonder what in Merlin's name he might have done or not done to bring him here so abruptly.

The door opened, and a voice pronounced "Sir Harry James Potter, Knight Commander of the Victorian Order."

Well, that was his cue. He strode through the door, stopped, bowed and stood straight. "Your Majesty. Your Highness."

Harry had seen the Queen up close before, and he had seen her wield the authority of the Sovereign. She was every bit as formidable as he remembered her. Prince Philip was a tall handsome man, of an age with the Queen and, he thought just as formidable. The Prince, he now recalled, had been in battle when he was no older than Harry was now, and he had risen to command a warship before leaving the Navy. The Queen was seated behind a desk, Prince Philip to one side.

"Sir Harry. We regret the abruptness of your summons. This is a matter of the Defence of the Realm, which brooked no delay. Please be seated." The Queen said.

Harry took the chair in front of the desk. He didn't think he was in trouble - yet, anyway.

"We have read the reports on Operation Beowulf. A threat to the Realm was eliminated by your prompt and timely action, though only just in time. Well done. According to your report, however, there may be further threats that remain undiscovered." The Queen said.

"Yes, Your Majesty." He replied carefully.

At her gesture, he went into more detail. "If Bellatrix Lestrange had a group of followers that remained bound to her after her death, then there may have been others. That they were able to breed dragons in secret raises unanswered questions about how, where and from whom they got the eggs."

Her Majesty nodded. "Could those questions be investigated by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

"No, Your Majesty. Their remit is quite clear. They can investigate where they have reasonable grounds to believe a crime has been committed. Unanswered questions do not rise to that standard." Harry had no groggiest idea where the Queen was going with this, but he was dead sure that she knew the answers as well as he did.

"Sir Harry, you have borne a great weight of responsibility from a young age, including this last action in Our service. It would be understandable if you wished for relief from that burden." Her voice gentled, as she would speak to one of her own grandchildren.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. A normal quiet life was something he had never really known. It was, he supposed, human nature to wish for what you had never had. He opened his eyes again, looked up at the face of the Sovereign and remembered. A terrified boy and his fugitive father had petitioned for justice and they had received it beyond hope.

A weight of responsibility. He remembered what he had seen during the Restoration. The Wizengamot had been judged by their Magical oath to the Sovereign, and more than half of its members had been weighed by their magic, found wanting and stripped of their Magic on her judgement. Twenty-five Death Eaters had died by the bullet and eight more by the rope, and she had pronounced all those sentences herself. The responsibilities he had complained of were a feather's weight compared to what she had borne. Yet she had still taken the time to be gentle with him and let him realize for himself what must be done.

For centuries men and women had gone into battle, open and secret, obedient to their oath to the Sovereign. Soldiers had died in the battle against Voldemort and the Death Eaters. The soldiers who had come to his rescue had risked their lives at a moment's notice for someone they did not know, and accepted him as one of their own. Time to live up to that.

"And who then would speak for the next terrified boy who cries himself hungry to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs? Who would stand against the next power-mad wizard who seeks to make himself an immortal despot? No, Your Majesty. I serve at your pleasure, but while I can I ask your leave to serve." Harry said.

The Queen turned to her husband, and there was a moment of silence in the room. Harry realized that while Prince Philip had not made a sound or said a word, those cool blue eyes had measured his every word and action since he had entered the room. After a short pause, he gave a nod. "He'll do."

The Queen turned her attention back to Harry. "One of the notable deficiencies in the governance of Our Magical Realm is the complete lack of agencies to discover threats to the Realm in timely manner, that they may be dealt with before they become existential. The difficulty has been to find a suitable Chief for such an agency. Our Chief Wizard has recommended you for this post. The appointment of Chiefs of Intelligence is in the gift of the Sovereign. You are appointed to be Chief of a new agency whose remit shall be the defense of the Realm against threats originating in or involving our Magical Realm that cannot be dealt with by the military or the police. What will you call this agency?"

Harry's mind stalled dead for a moment, then he said, "MK-1, Your Majesty." He was the first Magical Knight. It was as good a name as he could think of.

"So ordered." The Queen said.

She picked up a piece of parchment. "We have reviewed your proposed budget and organization. While We do not tell Our Intelligence Chiefs how to do their business, We do offer advice. Your budget is excessively modest. You should at the least double it."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Harry replied.

 _The Queen is right. Not a shocker_. He had been thinking in terms of a small team as part of CWO. Now it was going to be ... a lot larger. There was to be sure the problem of getting what he asked for. He'd kept it as small as he could for just that reason. Some quiet asking around had convinced him that getting money out of the Wizengamot was like getting blood from a stone … without magic.

The Queen might have read his mind. It would not have surprised him. "Your budget will be presented to the Wizengamot as a Secret Vote, with the addendum that continued inattention to the Defence of the Realm will earn them Our displeasure."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Harry could not conceal the relief he felt. Even the hardcore conservatives would not want to risk that.

"As Our Magical Knight, you are granted the privilege of appointing Men-at-Arms." The Queen said. Harry felt a slight tingle of magic run down him. This was obviously important, but Harry had no clue what it might entail. He decided to ask the Chief Wizard later.

"Your new duties call, Sir Harry. We will leave you to it."

Harry stood, bowed, and left. His head was whirling with the many things that he needed to do. He needed to sit and think which ones he needed to do first.

Back in the waiting room, he sat down to try to collect himself after having had his world turned inside out.

After a time he looked up to see the smiling face of Andrew Halford, Chief Wizard and his erstwhile boss. "Hello, Harry. Congratulations. I will make no doubt that you have questions."

"Her Majesty told me that you recommended me for this. Thank you … I think." He said.

"Sorely needed and long overdue, Harry. The Magical world's answer was to dump all of this on Dumbledore, without actually giving him any money or people. The results of that policy, if you can call it that, speak for themselves." He said.

Harry could not argue that. "Her Majesty mentioned the privilege of appointing Men-at-Arms. I don't know what that signifies."

"Ah, yes. I'm afraid that's my fault as well. Your status is based on old and powerful magic that reaches back very far in history, to Merlin himself and perhaps further. I've been researching that. You have the ability to compel truth from any subject of Her Majesty, for example. I believe that there may be others as well, though the records are old and fragmentary. If you appoint someone trustworthy as your Man-at-Arms, they will be able to use those abilities as well on your authority. They will be accountable to you, and you in turn to the Queen."

Harry considered that. Tonks came to his mind immediately. "Can I appoint women?"

Halford smiled. "It's an archaic ritual, Harry, but there's nothing gender specific about it."

Halford handed him two business cards. "The Chief of the Secret Intelligence Service and the Director General of the Security Service would like to meet with you. I believe that they want to size up their new colleague."

"Merlin's beard." Harry said as he took the cards. What he knew of both agencies came from movies and television, what of either he had sneaked behind the Dursley's backs. What sort of powerful ruthless people was he going to be dealing with?

"When would this meeting be?" Harry asked.

"Well, actually they're here right now. The word that you were being considered for this appointment has got around. They're in a meeting room that they reserved."

"How did they … " Harry started to ask, then stopped himself. _The Chief of MK-1 really doesn't need to be asking stupid questions, and that one definitely is. These people are in the business of knowing things._

He looked at the business cards.

Dame Stella Worthington

Director General Security Service (MI-5)

Thames House, Millbank, London SE1

Sir Andrew Rowling

Chief, Secret Intelligence Service (MI-6)

85 Albert Embankment, London, SE1

 _Well, at least I can tell them apart._ Harry thought. He followed along behind the Chief Wizard. The area they arrived at was plain by Palace standards, which was to say that the priceless artwork was at wider intervals on the walls. Halford opened the door and gestured Harry ahead of him.

"Aren't you coming in?" Harry asked.

"Afraid not, Harry. I have no authority to release information to the intelligence agencies. That's been a long-standing issue. Statute of Secrecy, don't you know." Halford replied.

"What about me?" Harry said.

"You are an Intelligence Chief, with Her Majesty's confidence. Statute of Secrecy does not apply to you. You are accountable only to the Sovereign. What information you share with your peers is up to you. Good luck.'' He said.

Harry took a deep breath and walked in the door. The man and women at the table were well and conservatively dressed. Harry took a moment to give thanks to Sirius for insisting that he be well dressed.

They were both on the high side of middle age, but otherwise unremarkable. Neither of them looked like James Bond.

"Sir Andrew, Dame Stella. I'm Harry Potter." He said tentatively.

"Sir Harry, we are very pleased to meet you." The man said, and both of them rose to shake hands.

"Please have a seat." Dame Stella said.

Harry took a chair and tried to figure out what was going on.

Dame Stella took the lead. "Sir Harry. We do appreciate your position. You have been handed your mandate and told to invent your job from scratch. No one has had to do that in a century, since Sir Vernon Kell founded what became both of our agencies. Rivalry between intelligence agencies is a cliché, but that's definitely not the case here."

Sir Andrew took up the conversation. "Both of us have been privy to the secret of the existence of the Magical world, but that's been about it. The policy has been strictly hands off. We haven't even been able to let any of our subordinates in on the secret. The little we did know was not such as to ease our minds. There was at least one active terrorist group that had committed atrocities in the Magical and non-Magical worlds indiscriminately. What we came across in our own investigations was passed to the Crown Wizard's Office, but we had had no means of knowing whether or not any effective action was being taken."

 _Where to start? Begin at beginnings. Tell them what they need to know._ Harry took a deep breath. "How much do you know of Voldemort and the Death Eaters?"

"The names." Dame Stella replied soberly. "We were told that the entire group was taken down two years ago and is no longer a threat."

"So we all thought, until recently. Were you briefed on Operation Beowulf?" Harry replied.

"No." was the dual concerned reply. Harry took a breath and launched into an account of Operation Beowulf, which segued into some details on Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

"An interesting bailiwick you have inherited, Sir Harry. When we kill a terrorist, he stays dead. Are you sure that he's really dead this time?" Dame Stella asked.

"I was assured by the Department of Mysteries, the Ministry's research department, that he was. That said, they don't know exactly how he managed to cheat death before. They are looking into that."

"I'm going to be looking into that." He added, beginning to realize what he had just taken on.

"How much damage do you think this dragon attack might have done, Sir Harry?'' Dame Stella asked.

Harry had to think about that. It was possible to control dragons, or else they would be much more of a problem than they were. But if the controllers of those dragons simply turned them loose, or directed them to follow their natural inclination to kill and destroy …

"I think that they could have burned down most of London. They breathe fire, very hot fire. Police and fire response would be attacked by the dragons, so there wouldn't be much help there. It takes heavy military weaponry or equivalently powerful magic to kill one, and there would have been eight of them, three full grown." Harry replied after a pause to think about just how bad it might have been.

"Good God." was the reaction from both of them.

"These people make the IRA look like models of restraint." Dame Stella added.

"Sir Harry, do you think this black market in dragon eggs is national or international?" Sir Andrew asked.

Harry had to think about that, and he wound up having to add it to the list of unanswered questions that had come out of Operation Beowulf. "I certainly can't rule it out, and for that matter three eggs is a lot. It's quite possible that it's international."

Dame Stella and Sir Andrew exchanged glances. "Sir Harry, we aren't going to set the world to rights in one meeting. For now, what can we do to help? Are you all right for budget?"

Harry shook his head. "Crown Wizard's Office will cover me until my appropriation comes through. I don't foresee any problems there. The prospect of Her Majesty's displeasure carries considerable weight in the Wizengamot."

"How so?" Sir Andrew asked.

"The members of the Wizengamot swear a Magical Oath of Fealty to the Crown. Her Majesty can can invoke that magic to judge whether they have upheld that oath, and the consequences are serious and immediate."

"All our Parliamentarians have to worry about is votes of confidence." Sir Andrew commented.

He looked grave and tapped on the table. "One thing that you will have to remember. An Intelligence Chief must understand politics but remain aloof from them. There are always people who will suspect that you have your own sinister agenda, that you are using your post to manipulate things behind the scenes. You will often be the bearer of bad news. Your integrity and your impartiality, and your reputation for them, are of great importance. Without them you cannot do your job."

Harry nodded. That was not something he had thought about, but now that he had it was going to be important. That was for the long term, though. Now he had more immediate problems.

Harry frowned, remembering recent experience. "What is a problem is getting information from the non-Magical police. CWO has someone who can ask a favour at the Met, but that's very limited. Magical Law Enforcement has no liaison at all."

"That's problematic." Dame Stella said. "It's also remediable. The Service has liaison with every police agency in Britain, from Serious Crimes Agency on down. That is part of our mandate. Send your requests to me and I'll pass them on." She smiled briefly. "Requests from DG MI-5 usually get a high priority."

Harry smiled in return. "Does your office have a window, Dame Stella?"

"Yes." She said.

"When a great snowy owl knocks on your window, let it in. It will have a letter on its leg."

At her astonished look he said, "Welcome to my world, Dame Stella."


	10. Chapter 10 Tapping Shoulders

**Chapter 10 Tapping Shoulders**

Harry came out of the Palace gate looking … Sirius wasn't quite sure how he looked. Sober but not downcast. Determined, certainly that.

"Harry, are you all right?" Sirius said, worriedly. "Are you in trouble?"

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again and visibly thought about what to say. "I'm all right, Sirius. I'm not in any trouble - yet, anyway."

"What took you so long?" Sirius asked. "You weren't with the Queen all that time, were you?"

Harry again visibly thought first, then said "No, Sirius. I had another meeting with - never mind. We should go home. We need to talk, privately."

They Apparated back to 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry said "Kreacher."

"Yes, Master Harry." The old house elf replied.

"Sirius and I will be doing private business. We are not at home to visitors until I say otherwise. You will take all measures to ensure our privacy and not listen to us yourself." Harry said, in a tone of command Sirius had never heard from him.

"Yes, Master Harry." The old house elf said.

Sirius looked at Harry in astonishment. "Harry, what ...?"

"Not here, Sirius." Harry said.

They went into the sitting room and Harry sat in one of the comfortable overstuffed leather armchairs, casting privacy wards.

Sirius took a chair across from Harry. "All right, Harry. What in Merlin's name happened?"

"Sirius, I know you have a lot of questions. I have to warn you that if I answer them you'll be getting involved with something at least as sensitive, and perhaps as dangerous, as the Order of the Phoenix. I'll need your word, Marauder's Honour, that you will not divulge what I say without my permission." Harry said.

Sirius nodded. "You have my word, Marauder's Honour."

"Are you sure, Sirius?" Harry asked.

"My son is involved. I can't _not_ be. I made that mistake once. I'm not going to make it again." Sirius replied. His expression was one that Harry knew well. There would be no moving him on this. Harry didn't really want to try, but in all fairness he had to give him the choice.

"I wasn't summoned by the Queen to be called on the carpet, Sirius. I was interviewed for a job. The Magical world has no equivalent to MI-5 and MI-6. I am appointed to be the Chief of a new agency called MK-1 that will be the Magical world's equivalent of both." Harry said.

"Merlin's saggy left bollock." Sirius replied. "I can't believe it."

Harry smiled wryly. "I had trouble believing it myself. The Chief of SIS and the DG of the Security Service had no trouble believing it. They were really happy that something was finally being done. Practically their first question was 'How can we help?' "

"Did you have to do this, Harry?" Sirius asked.

"No, Sirius. I chose to do this. Remember the day we went to the Palace? Nobody at the Ministry gave a tinker's curse for us or law or justice. Dumbledore couldn't protect us. Voldemort was all ready to move. Where would we be if not for the Queen? Fugitives or dead, most likely. She didn't have to do anything. The Queen decided that it was her duty. How can I do less?" Harry replied.

Sirius sat silent, trying to sort out his very mixed feelings. Pride, that certainly. He had always been proud of Harry, and never more so than now. Worry sat right next to that. Harry's Gryffindor courage ran far too close to recklessness for his peace of mind. That last business with the dragons... Well, the Snitch was in play. It was too late to wonder what might have been.

"How can I help, Harry?" He said. His mind started to work again. As the Head of the House of Black, he was by necessity involved in politics. He had proxied the Black family seat in the Wizengamot to Andromeda, who was doing a good job. She led a sizeable bloc of the progressives, known as the Crown Loyalists. If need be he could take the seat in his own name, as little as he relished the prospect. The answer surprised him - again.

"I need you to put together the old crew, or what's left of it. Moony and Padfoot. I need Marauder's Maps that cover all of Britain. Dragons for a starter, including eggs if you can manage it. Named Persons of Interest will be next."

Sirius thought for a moment. "We'll certainly try our best, Harry, but that would be difficult and expensive. We'd need help, and they wouldn't come cheap. I don't know if we could afford it."

"Neither the Potters nor the Blacks are going to be out a worn Knut over this. Those days are done. The Wizengamot will fund MK-1 and MK-1 will let contracts to Marauders Inc., or whatever you call it, which will be a proper private company that will pay people what they're worth."

Which took Sirius back to politics. "What makes you think that they'll pass an appropriation like that?"

There was a flicker of a smile across Harry's face. "They won't like it. They've had a free ride since Grindelwald's War. They'd like the Queen's displeasure a good deal less. Time for them to start pulling their weight."

"I could give Andromeda a heads up. She could do some spade work behind the scenes." Sirius suggested.

Harry thought about that. It was tempting. Then he remembered what Sir Andrew had said. "MK-1 can't be seen to be playing politics, Sirius. I have to start as I mean to go on. If she's as surprised as anyone else, then no one is going to have reason to think that I'm favouring my own family or my own interests. I advise the Ministry, and I protect them. I do not control them. They are responsible to Her Majesty for their actions just as I am accountable for mine."

 _The Magical world has a new guardian._ _He is not the successor to Dumbledore. He will be greater than Dumbledore._ Sirius thought, watching that decision made and seeing the man his son had grown to be.

* * *

Evan checked his mail box, and raised his eyebrows. Aside from a couple of bills, there was a large brown envelope marked OHMS. Official business. Well, he was going to have his dinner before dealing with whatever that portended.

Trooper Arnold was set to be released from St. Mungo's this week, though fit for duty was a bit further off. Still, he would take good news when it came his way.

After dinner he headed into the bar for a pint. For once he didn't have duty and could indulge himself that small pleasure. Major Lee was at the bar. He took another seat one chair away so as not to seem obtrusive, and put the envelope on the bar. When the CO turned toward him he murmured "Sir." by reflex.

The CO smiled. "No rank in the Mess, Beowulf. I see you got your letter."

"Yes. I haven't opened it yet." He replied.

"Well, it's actually good news for a change, so there's no need to procrastinate." The Man replied.

Stan Lee gestured to the barman, who pulled Evan a pint of the local dark. He took a drink of it and ripped open the envelope. His face grew puzzled rather than pleased. There were some phrases, like Droits of the Crown, that he recognized and a lot more that he didn't.

"Yes, the Queen's English does get rather mistreated at the hands of lawyers and accountants, doesn't it? For the modest fee of one pint you can have a translation if you like." Stan the Man said amiably.

Evan immediately waved to the barman and two more pints arrived in front of them.

"Dead dragons are rare and valuable. Dragon bones, dragon hide, dragon blood and other parts are all useful in magic and hard to come by, hence valuable. The three we killed will be sold at auction and the money will go to the Crown seeing that the Crown's agents actually killed the bloody things. Our gracious liege lady has decreed that the proceeds thereof, less legal and accounting fees, will be shared out as prize money according to the time-honoured formulas for such. "

"Prize money? That hasn't been awarded since the Napoleonic Wars." Evan said. He'd only read about prize money in historical novels.

"World War I was the last time, actually, but what's a century or so among friends." Stan replied amiably, and took a pull of his beer.

"Not to sound mercenary, but just how much would that add up to?" Evan asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Ah, well, there are uncertainties there, seeing that the auction has yet to take place. The system by which it is allocated will certainly make you the envy of the the rest of the Mess. You see, the value is divided into a number of shares of equal value. The number of shares awarded to each individual who was part of the effort varies, unsurprisingly, by rank."

Evan was not surprised by that at all. The Army had changed greatly in some ways since the Napoleonic Wars, rather less so in others.

"For the first dragon, the entire award goes to the QRF, and the lion's share to you as the Commanding Officer. As your 2 I/C Sergeant Crusher will do rather well, too. I dare say that it will be sufficient for you to settle down, marry some deserving witch, and raise a family in comfort. Your share of the second dragon's value will be quite a bit less, as a subordinate commander, but not a pittance all the same."

"Why a witch?" Evan asked. "Not that I'm opposed, to be sure."

"You'll have to spend it on this side. Security, don't you know." Stan replied easily.

"What of Sir Harry? He was on the pitch, too." Evan asked. _Saved our bloody bacon, he did._ He added mentally.

Stan smiled. "He was very gracious. In his view, we came to the rescue and saved his bacon, so the credit should go to us. To be sure, he's well off in his own right."

Evan McKendrick had read history at Sandhurst, and while he was quite sure Her Majesty was genuinely concerned for the welfare of those she sent into battle he was equally certain that the larger interests of the Realm were also in play in any decision of the Sovereign.

Voldemort had not been a lone lunatic any more than Hitler had been. Those who had followed him had done so willingly, at least in the beginning, and they were not all dead or out of play. The battle he had just fought was evidence enough of that.

The grip of the pure blood bigots on the Ministry of Magic had pushed a lot of wizards of non-magical birth out of Magical Britain. A situation that encouraged non-wizard born subjects of proven loyalty to return to Magical Britain was to the interests of the Crown. As a sensible man he had given thought to his career prospects, and they were rather limited. As a Lieutenant who had proved himself a competent Troop Commander under fire, he could reasonably expect promotion to Captain in due course.

Someone with service in a normal, which was to say non-Magical and actually known to exist, Special Forces unit could take his experience back to the Regular Army with its better promotion prospects. MSS was once in, never out. There was exactly one Major's position in MSS, and Stan Lee didn't look like retiring any time soon.

That bore quite heavily on a decision he had to make pretty soon now. He was at twelve years service, the point where he either converted his terms of service to stay in the Army or left with a small pension. Living on that pension wasn't an option, but a man with private means might not need to.

* * *

Hermione looked up at the tap on the side of her cubicle. "That report isn't due yet, ... oh, hello, Harry. It's been a while."

"Too long. Thought I might buy you dinner and we could catch up a little." He replied.

She looked uncertain. "Harry, I've got a lot to do."

He smiled briefly. "I am quite sure you do. Goblin Fiscal Policy is important, but it will still be there tomorrow. Good dinner at Carver's is harder to come by."

"Well, all right. Wait a minute, how do you know what I'm doing for the Head of Magical Cooperation?" She said.

"People tell me things. Tell you more over dinner, if you like." He replied.

She looked puzzled, but got her purse. They took the Ministry Floo down to the posh end of Diagon Alley. Carver's was a small place, out of the way. It had wards to keep out anyone who didn't have a reservation. Harry was greeted, not by the head waiter but by the owner himself, and shown to a table with the deference due a VIP.

The Sommelier did his turn, and they wound up with a French white that had been laid down the year Hermione's parents had been married.

Harry had a Beef Wellington, with vegetables on the side. Hermione ordered a Chicken Cordon Bleu. The appetizers were the house specialty, Mushrooms Neptune.

She sipped at her glass, and decided that she wasn't enough of a wine fancier to appreciate the subtleties, though it was very nice. "You do realize, Harry, that the gossip columnists are going to be all over this tomorrow morning."

He smiled, raised his glass and took a sip. "Occupational hazard, I'm afraid. However, as long as they think that, they aren't thinking anything else. In case you are, this is not that kind of a seduction."

He paused as the waiter brought the appies, mushrooms stuffed with crab and cream cheese. Normally it would have just floated in, but Carvers was exclusive as to that, too. There was no magic, and so no eavesdropping, in the dining room. In addition to elegant dinners, conversations both professional and personal could be had there in complete privacy.

"You're doing well at the Ministry. No surprise there. Go-to person for Goblin Relations generally, and fiscal policy in particular. A very tricky file, which is why the senior people are more than happy to leave it to you and take the credit for your success." Harry said.

"You've impressed me with how much you know, Harry, and now I would like to know why you've taken the trouble to find it out." She said, setting her wine glass down.

"The dark side of doing well at the Ministry is that you are still going to have to wait a long while before you get a step up. It's dead men's shoes. The Restoration cleared out some of the dead wood, but it's still a game for the patient." He said.

"The work is worth doing, Harry." She replied. _This fencing is quite unlike Harry. Come to that, he's looking a lot more serious that he usually does._

"How are you doing at the Crown Wizard's office these days?" She asked, deciding that she was going to fence back a little.

He smiled and snared an appy, washing it down with some wine. "Not for anyone else to know, and I'll need your word on that, but I'm not with the CWO any more. I've got a new job."

"All right, my word that it's under the rose. What's the new job?" She said, getting one of the appies while the getting was good. She and Harry had shared dangerous secrets before.

"I am appointed by Her Majesty personally to be the Chief of a new Agency called MK-1, the Magical world's equivalent of MI-5 and MI-6 in the non-Magical world. I need someone who is brilliant, totally organized and absolutely trustworthy to be the Head of Administration for this new Agency. As my right hand, you'd be equivalent to a Ministry Head of Department. Paid commensurately, as well." He said. He leaned back in his chair and watched her.

 _This has to be ... no, it's not a joke._ She thought, watching his face.

"Her Majesty personally?" Hermione said.

Harry smiled. "The appointment of Intelligence Chiefs is within the gift of the Sovereign. What sort of gift it will be, well, that remains to be seen."

"Why would Her Majesty do that? She had to have a reason." Hermione said. The Sovereign did not exert Her authority in the Magical Realm without good cause. Mostly her oversight was a reminder from Grandmother that her grandchildren should play nicely.

Harry took off his glasses, looked pensive, then replaced them. "We came rather too close to having London burned down. Her Majesty wants no repetition of that. Threats to the Realm that cannot be dealt with by MLE or the military are now the remit of MK-1."

"London burned down?" Hermione said, trying to keep her voice from rising.

He looked back at her with a cool quiet expression. "That MK-1 exists is not a secret that will keep. Operation Beowulf would be one of the secrets that you would take to your grave if you take up this position."

Harry gestured, and the waiter moved into serve the main course. With the plates on the table and the waiter gone again, he looked across the table at her. "I need help, Hermione. There's no glory in it. I saved London, with a lot of help from MMS. Nobody can ever know how close that was."

He fell silent and gave his attention to his food. Harry always did that, because eating a decent meal had not been a given during his childhood. This time, though, she sensed that he was letting her think about the truly astonishing offer that was on this luxuriously appointed table.

"Certainly it's a brilliant opportunity, Harry. Why not someone more experienced?" She said after a few bites of her chicken.

"Build a new Agency from scratch, one that can't be known to exist, much less have any public exposure of what it does. Fight the bureaucratic wars that are inevitable in that situation so we can maintain our independence, which we absolutely must have. No one has any experience doing something like that. Dumbledore's Army was about as close as anyone has come, I suppose." He replied.

"You kept London from burning down. Really?" Hermione said.

"Dragons would do that." He replied.

"Dragons." She said, slowly.

"All right, Harry. I'm in. How do we do this?" She said after a thoughtful silence.

"Find a believable reason for leaving the Ministry. Whatever works, you'll know better about that. We're working out of 12 Grimmauld for now. Stay in touch." He said.

* * *

"Hello, Evan. Would you like a pint?" Evan turned at the familiar voice.

"Sir Harry. Good to see you. Don't mind if I do."

Harry waved at the barman and gave his order. The drinks arrived promptly, and Harry edged them over to a small table in the corner.

"Congratulations. Twice, in fact. Captain Evan McKendrick, CGC. Has a nice ring to it."

"I think of it as being on behalf of the rest of the people." Evan replied, a little uneasily. The Conspicuous Gallantry Cross was one notch down from the Victoria Cross. He wasn't sure he deserved it. He'd got the job done when it mattered, but he was paid for that.

Harry chuckled. "In my experience, arguing the toss with Her Majesty is a waste of breath. I've tried it."

 _So he has, by all accounts._ "I'll take your word for it, Sir Harry. I stuck to, 'Yes, Your Majesty.' and 'Thank you, Your Majesty.' " Evan replied.

"How's Leila?" Harry asked, in a tone of light conversation while sipping his beer.

"She's fine. I'm just waiting for her to get off work at the Misuse of Non-Magical Artifacts Office." Evan replied, wondering just how Sir Harry knew about her. He had been seeing quite a lot of Leila of late. He wasn't at the point of popping the question, but he was thinking about it.

"Well, the word around is that Arthur Weasley is going to get a step up soon, so she might be in line to move up a little." Harry added.

Evan hadn't heard that. He wondered again how Sir Harry came to be so well informed about the things that touched his life.

"You're coming up on twelve years service. Made any decisions about that?" Harry asked casually.

"I'm thinking about it." Evan replied, carefully. At twelve years service, he either converted his terms of service to do another twelve years or left the Army with a small pension. Leila was one of the reasons he was thinking. Being a soldier's wife was a hard row to hoe, and he wasn't sure he wanted to ask her to do it.

The pieces came together in Evan's mind. _Good Lord. This is the tap on the shoulder._

In the non-Magical world, MI-5 and MI-6 very seldom advertised. Much more often, a likely prospect got a tap on the shoulder and an offer from someone he trusted.

 _That unsolicited advice is about to come back to haunt me. There were rumours of a new player on the pitch, now that I think about it._ "I do believe I warned you about the perils of poaching people." Evan said.

Harry smiled. "I had a word with the Man. He wasn't ecstatic about losing his best Troop Commander, but he agreed that it was for for the greater good."

 _You do learn fast, Harry._ Evan said. "What are we talking about here?"

"You retire from the Army and take a position with the Crown Wizards Office. Something suitably vague and bureaucratic. You retain your security clearances. You'd be the Deputy Chief, military liaison and other duties as assigned."

Evan hesitated. He was tempted, but this was a dive into the unknown from the known stability of the Army.

Harry's voice took on an edge of pleading. "Evan, remember that desk we talked about? It exists now, and there are 10 files on it, and counting. We've only started turning over rocks, and some pretty nasty things have already crawled out. We haven't nearly enough people."

 _Ten files and counting. Good God above. The first thing the veterans of MSS told me about Sir Harry was that he doesn't start at shadows. You were the one who gave him all that good advice. Time to put your money where your mouth is._

"All right, Harry, I'm in. I'll put in my papers tomorrow and be done with the Army in six weeks." Evan said.

Harry raised his glass in a toast. "Welcome to MK-1."


	11. Chapter 11 Meetings

**Chapter 11 Meetings**

"Well, we've got a lot of questions, rather light on answers. This is rather tougher than most. Just how did Voldemort come back from the dead, and how do we know he won't do it again?" Harry said. They were around a table at the library in 12 Grimmauld Place.

Evan and Hermione both sat silent and looked uncertain. Finally Hermione said, "We're going to have to talk to the Department of Mysteries over this. They had observers at the take-down of the Death Eaters, but they aren't saying what they observed or what they've deduced from it."

"All right, this is an open file. We're going to work it. Where is Tonks?" Harry asked. Tonks was now Head of Investigations for Mk-1, and she would resign from MLE as soon as their appropriation came through and she could be put on the payroll. She was also, right now, their only investigator.

"She's over at MLE, talking to some people about getting access to their files. As long as she's at least nominally part of MLE, they can't say no, but there's already some foot dragging there." Evan replied.

"Once she does leave, it will get a lot worse. Can't say that I like that thought." Harry said. Access to MLE's files had been absolutely crucial during Operation Beowulf, and that whole investigation had been kicked off by one informant's report.

"With the best will in the world, it would be a serious problem, Harry. It isn't going to just happen. Sorting through the lost dogs and general rubbish to find the pearls would be a full time job, and it would inevitably be imperfect. Things would fall through the cracks." Evan said.

"She's also talking to people, looking for people we might want to recruit. MI-5 and MI-6 spend years training their people. We're going to have to throw people in at the deep end and have them learn on the job." Evan added.

Harry frowned. "Poaching people. I'll have that talk with Director Shacklebolt. He's not going to like it, but there's no help for it. Meanwhile, current business. How do you raise the dead?"

"Well, there's one way we both know about, Harry." Hermione said.

When they both turned to look at her, she added, "The Philosopher's Stone. Voldemort wanted it so he could return from the dead. We know that."

"Professor Dumbledore said the Stone had been destroyed." Harry replied.

"Due respect, Harry, but that's not something we can simply take at face value." Evan said.

"I don't think he'd lie to me. Not about that." Harry replied.

"He's your friend, and he was your mentor. I quite understand how you feel. He is not infallible. He withheld information from you. He may well have had good intentions, but he also made serious errors. We need to find out more." Evan said, making a decisive gesture.

Harry frowned. He could not deny that Evan was right at least in part, but he was deeply uncomfortable about this. His feelings about Dumbledore were very tangled and conflicted. That he genuinely cared about Harry he had no doubt, but there were also the years he had spent at the mercy of the Dursleys. There was the whole question of how much of the danger that he had been plunged into time and again had been in spite of Dumbledore, and how much because of him.

"What, precisely, do we know about the Stone?" Evan asked.

Hermione said, "According to our research, the Stone was created by the alchemist Nicholas Flamel. It can be used to make the Elixir Vitae, which makes the drinker immortal. Flamel was reported to be over 600 years old. From what Dumbledore said to Harry, you have to keep on drinking the Elixir to stay alive. Immortality is over-stating it a bit, really. It stops you aging. I doubt if it protects you against death by violence, either."

"Professor Dumbledore told me that the Stone had been destroyed. He said that Nicholas Flamel had agreed to that being done, and that he had enough of the elixir to live for a while, to set his affairs in order." Harry added.

Evan looked dubious. "I do rather have a problem with that. Several, actually. Flamel had survived over 600 years, centuries when people knew he had the Stone and how valuable and powerful it was. Voldemort would not have been the only one who would kill, or do anything, to lay hands on it. Not by a long chalk. A man who had survived all that, and then he just decides to roll over and die? I don't see it."

Hermione leaned over the table. "I don't say Dumbledore lied, Harry, but did he tell you everything, and did he know everything?"

"Question assumptions, Harry. Sergeant Fletcher will go on about that all day if you let him. Assumption one, there was only one Philosopher's Stone. If Flamel could make one, who's to say he couldn't make another?" Evan said.

"It does make sense, Harry. Dumbledore went out of his way to tell you the Stone had been destroyed. He probably wanted it known, so Voldemort would know and stop going after it. Flamel stocks up on Elixir and goes underground. Eventually, when the coast is clear and everyone thinks he's dead, he makes another Stone. That gets Voldemort off his back and stops Voldemort from using it, and allows him to keep on using it." Hermione said.

Harry nodded reluctantly. "That would make sense. That doesn't mean it's right, but it is certainly possible. Dumbledore would not have lied, really. It also takes us to the question of whether this is even in the remit of MK-1."

"How's that?" Evan asked.

"The Stone is a powerful artifact, but it's not a destructive one. If Flamel has lived over 600 years without turning into a Dark Lord, I don't see him changing his mind on that. Voldemort, if he isn't dead, is the threat." Harry said.

"Fair point, but we are still going to have to get facts to back up all this theorizing, so we know if it's a threat or not." Evan said.

"Next problem. The Philosopher's Stone wouldn't have brought Voldemort back from the dead that day in Godric's Hollow. There has to be another powerful artifact out there, one that can bring someone back from the dead." Evan said.

Hermione looked serious, and added, "Well, halfway back from the dead, anyway. Voldemort wasn't a living person, but he was more than a ghost. He had to be a parasite on someone as he was with Quirrel, drink unicorn blood to sustain himself. That was why he was so desperate to get the Stone."

Evan began ticking off points on his fingers. "Unanswered questions. What is this artifact, who has it, what are they doing or planning to do with it? Potential threat to the Realm? Absolutely."

At that point there was a knock on the door and Tonks came into the room. "Hello, all. What did I miss?"

"We're agreeing that we don't know nearly enough about Voldemort. How did it go at MLE?" Harry replied.

"Rather frostily. The word has got round that I'm on short time and working for you now, so favours, or even cooperation, are pretty thin on the ground. Getting access to their files is going to be a problem. Even if Director Shacklebolt says yes, you're going to see a lot of foot-dragging and obstruction at the working levels, even leaving aside that their system is pretty much of a mess at the best of times. I talked to some people I think are likely, just sizing them up. I'm not going to even hint at an offer without your say-so." She said.

"Good. The Secret Vote is Friday a week, so all being well we'll have money then, and we will be able to make offers to people. I've got a meeting with the Minister over that. I expect I'm going to be saying No very loudly and firmly. Sirius has been talking to Andromeda, and there's a lot of people who are not happy. Some of them are pushing to try to delay the Vote, or attach conditions to it. Meetings. I think I may wind up remembering playing tag with dragons as the good old days." Harry said.

"Well, there is one meeting that I can take in your place if you want, Harry. Might even be better if I do. We're going to have to talk to Professor Dumbledore and find out what he knows about all this." Evan said.

Harry took off his glasses, cocked his head to one side, then put them back on. "Thank you for the offer, Evan, and I wish I could take you up on it. I can't. I know him better than you do, and he's not a very easy man to read."

"All right. I've got the meeting with the Minister, and I have to make that one. Tonks, can you set up the one with Director Shacklebolt? Use your judgement on that. I'll want you there to back me up. You know MLE, and I don't."

"Certainly, Harry. Sooner rather than later?" She said.

Harry nodded. "After I've dealt with those two, then I can go up to Hogwarts and talk to Dumbledore." Harry said.

"No, you aren't going to do that, Harry." Evan's tone was firm and decisive.

"I beg your pardon?" Harry replied.

"Harry, that would absolutely send the wrong message. You are not a former student going to visit his old teacher, you are the Chief of MK-1 interviewing a person of interest in an ongoing investigation. You summon him, and you question him here or at a time and place of your choosing. We can be polite about it, that's all." Evan said.

Harry took his glasses off, bit the stem and then put them back on. "I knew I was going to regret taking this bloody job. We'll do it that way, Evan."

The meeting broke up after that, with Tonks and Hermione off to the next things on their To Do lists. Harry sat, brooding.

"Sickle for your thoughts." Evan said.

Harry looked up, and said, "My thoughts are conflicting, Evan."

"I was angry at Dumbledore for a long time. Now I've got a lot more sympathy for him. He was playing a deadly game for very high stakes. He was in the position of having to defend the wizarding world - Hell, the muggle world, too - against a threat that most people didn't believe, or want to believe, existed. He had few people and limited resources. Fudge and the Wizengamot wouldn't give him the time of day. It wasn't a choice whether or not to put people - friends - in harms way, it was a choice of which people and when. He led from in front, no one can deny that. When you walk in the shoes, you get a different view of things. He didn't have the MMS to back him up, either." Harry said.

"Obviously, you aren't Dumbledore. You aren't making his mistakes, either. You listen to your people, you don't try to do it all yourself, and you don't try to keep everything in your own head. As to the MMS, Dumbledore was a one man MMS." Evan said.

"Well, Dumbledore was incredibly brilliant ..." Harry said.

"I don't give a toss how brilliant he was." Evan replied impatiently.

He looked as Harry had seen him at the Hot Wash. "He was called on the carpet in front of Her Majesty for a shed load of mistakes on his watch. Avoidable mistakes. Your home life was only one. The Dursleys should have been vetted like - well, like the recruits for MK-1. Then they should have been monitored by someone more competent than Mrs. Figg. He meant well, I'll give him that. He didn't take the time to do it himself because he was too busy, he didn't put anyone trustworthy on the job because they were too busy, and he didn't listen to people who told him there was a problem."

"I'm not infallible, either." Harry said.

"No one is. Make the best decisions you can, learn from them, and move on." Evan replied.

Evan pointed his hand at him. "I've got ten years on you, and I've spent most of that studying the art of command. That's one of the elementary mistakes that you get warned about first year, with lots of horrible examples to drive the point home. Not just reading about it, either. They put you through field exercises where you are juggling four crises when sleep is a distant memory. Then you get to look back and realize what a drunken idiot you were."

"Maybe I should take lessons from you." Harry said.

Evan shook his head. "I am your loyal and supportive second in command because I am not nearly mad enough to want your job. I can give advice. If you want a mentor, you have a standing invitation to the Regimental Mess of the MMS. If there is a better mentor than Stan the Man, I don't know who he is."

"Thanks, Evan." Harry said.

Harry headed for the Floo, then stopped. *Well, maybe I should get some advice from my mentor before I go nose to nose with the Minister and the Governor General.*

A handful of Floo powder later he was at MMS HQ. He headed down to the Officer's Mess and took a seat. Two pints arrived on his table without his even having to ask, and they were followed shortly by the arrival of Major Lee.

"Hello, Sir Harry. How is the new job?" He asked.

"Challenging. I've got a meeting with the Minister and the Governor General in a few hours, and I thought I might ask you for some advice." Harry said.

"Wise of you. I'll do my best for you. What do you know of the Minister and the Governor General?"

"Madam Bones is ... well, she's a strong person, respected for being fair and just. Governor General French, I don't know him at all." Harry said.

"I do. He was the Commander of the MMS before I was. He was a good Commander. I respected him and learned a lot from him. Like Minister Bones, he's a strong person." Stan the Man replied.

Harry thought about that. He'd never thought this was going to be easy. "Where does that take me?"

"You have to be as strong as they are. You earned the respect of the officers of the MMS. Your invitation here was from them, not me. Custom and tradition. Now you have to do that again." He replied.

At Harry's frown, he continued. "You're a young man, barely more than a boy in their eyes, who has a knighthood, Her Majesty's confidence, and is about to be handed a lot of money to do things they have no say about. That's going to make them nervous. They are going to want to get control over you and MK-1, convince you that you work for them, or should."

"What do I do about that?" Harry asked.

"Don't let them. The only way they get that control is if you cede it to them, and that's a mistake you cannot afford to make. Certainly you are going to have to deal with them, but it has to be on your terms, not theirs." The Man said.

Harry thought about that. It would be very easy for him to come across as an arrogant prat, and that wouldn't do either.

Stan held up his glass. "Let me give you an example. Sergeant Fletcher, down the hall. If I tell him I want something looked into, he'll do it. If I tried to tell him how to do his job or what conclusions to draw, he'd tell me to go to Hell. Politely, of course."

"I don't work for them, I work with them. They don't get anything until they admit they have to treat me as an equal." Harry said.

"That's right. Sergeant Fletcher plows through a lot of stuff. He tells me what I need to know. I trust him to do that. You decide what they need to know." The Man said.

Harry finished his beer, then glanced at his watch. "I'm off to see the Minister. Wish me luck."

Harry was shown into the Minister's office, and Minister Bones and Governor General French were there waiting for him. He was glad he was wearing his bespoke suit. They were certainly well dressed.

"Harry, my boy, please have a seat." Minister Bones said.

"Madam Minister, I am not your boy, nor anyone's except the Queen's." Harry replied, remaining standing. If she was trying to put him off balance, he wasn't going to let her.

If his reply upset either of them, they didn't show it. Governor General French replied, in a much more formal tone, "Sir Harry, please be seated. We have a good deal to go over."

Harry took a seat.

Minister Bones started, also more formally. "Sir Harry, there is a sizable faction in the Wizengamot that wishes to delay the Secret Vote, and wishes to know why you are asking for so much money."

"I am sure there is." Harry replied. Then he waited.

Madam Bones visibly decided that Harry wasn't going to answer. "Why do you need so much money?"

"To fulfill my remit from Her Majesty. I am to defend the Realm from threats that cannot be dealt with by the police or military. I have already identified several such threats, and dealt with one of them." Harry replied.

"I had heard that the MMS had deployed on an operation recently." The Governor-General said.

"They did. I believe that you are should know more about that. I will require your word, upon your Oath to the Queen, that you will tell nothing of this to anyone without my permission." Harry said, keeping his tone as level as he could.

"You have my word." Came from both the Minister and the Governor-General.

"This file is designated Operation Beowulf. It required me to call in the full strength of the MMS." He began.

Harry talked for about ten minutes, laying out what had been done and not sugar coating just how close-run a thing it had been. At the end of it both the Minister and the Governor-General were looking decidedly shaken.

"Her Majesty was naturally rather concerned over this, and so I was appointed to head an organization that would find and deal with such threats in more timely manner." Harry concluded.

Minister Bones recovered herself quickly. "I see, Sir Harry. You make your point. I will admit that I had my doubts, but that is no longer the case. There is a motion on the floor of the Wizengamot to delay the Secret Vote. I will see it quashed, and I will remind the waverers that they will be courting Her Majesty's displeasure."

"Thank you, Minister." Harry said.

"You have stated that you need a suitable property to house your organization. How large might it need to be?" The Minister said, going on to the next item.

*Thank you, Hermione.* "You have my written request, from my Head of Administration." Harry said.

"You could operate here in the Ministry Building. We would be glad to make space available." The Minister said.

"Generous of you, Minister, but the nature of our operations and the security required make that impractical." Harry replied. *For which read, there would be all sorts of people inviting themselves in to snoop around, and our people would be seen coming and going.*

"There were properties that were seized from the Death Eaters after the Restoration, since they had been convicted of treason against the Realm. If one of them was suitable, it could be granted to you, outright or on a lease for one galleon." The Minister said.

"Please owl a list to my Head of Administration. She will deal with that." Harry said. _I didn't promise you a rose garden, Hermione._

"Very well." The Minister said.

"You have requested that the Department of Mysteries open their files to you. They are unused to doing that." The Minister went on.

"No doubt. This is another threat to the Realm that I am investigating." Harry said.

"What threat might that be?" The Governor General replied.

"Voldemort." Harry said.

"Voldemort is dead." Madam Bones said.

"He is, as far as we know. We do not know enough to say that he is not a threat, and we have some reason to believe he may still be. Operation Beowulf showed us that there are still Death Eaters, or Death Eater sympathizers, who remain a danger." Harry said.

He passed his hand over his scar. "Voldemort managed to come back from the dead once before, as I have good cause to know. We do not know what means he used to do that, where that means may be, or who has it. In my judgement, that is a potential threat."

"I see. I will direct the Head Unspeakable to cooperate fully with your investigation." The Minister said.

"Director Shacklebolt has complained that you are poaching on his preserves. Auror Tonks was specifically mentioned." The Minister continued.

"Well, I'm going to have that meeting with him, but I will say here that it is a regrettable necessity. Tonks was one of the first people I recruited. If you are going to steal brooms, Minister, steal Firebolts." Harry said.

The Minister chuckled a little at that. "Necessity presses, Sir Harry. Understood. I will inform Director Shacklebolt. As I am now aware, you have much on your plate."

"Are there any other matters, Sir Harry?" The Minister said.

"No. Thank you for your cooperation." Harry replied.

The Minister glanced at her watch. "I have a Wizengamot sitting. If you will excuse me."

After she left, Governor General French took his cane from where it stood against the wall, and stood up.

"Well done, Harry. Her Majesty will be pleased." He said, winked, and walked out.


	12. Chapter 12 Interview With A Teacher

**Chapter 12 Interview With a Teacher**

Albus Dumbledore lived quietly these days. He taught a few advanced courses and otherwise kept to himself. At his age, that was not too much of a problem. It was all done with, now, for good or for ill. Voldemort was gone, and the Restoration had brought accountability where there had been none. A perfect world it was not, but the Realm lay at peace and an old man could live out his days in that peace. He was content with that.

Having finished the modifications to his lesson plan, he decided that a cup of tea would not come amiss, and perhaps a bit of sweet to go with it. He headed downstairs from his small apartment to the Teachers Common Room, and checked the slot with his name on it for any mail that might have come his way. Often enough, there was not, and what there was consisted of personal correspondence with those old friends and associates who were still alive.

There was only one envelope today, and it was not ordinary or personal. It was blank when he picked it up, and only at his touch did the address become visible. Across the top in bold letters was "On Her Majesty's Service." It was addressed "Professor Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts Castle", without a return address. When he turned it over, he saw a crest on the flap. Under the crown that topped it was MK-1 in a roundel, which opened as he watched to reveal an eye, then closed again.

A flicker of apprehension was followed by the knowledge that it was most unlikely that any sort of dangerous magic could get into Hogwarts or function if it did. The new Headmaster was far stricter about that, and the threat was less these days.

He took his seat, poured himself some tea after the tea service appeared on the table, and decided that he might as well investigate this mystery.

The letter opened to a tap of his wand, to reveal a single seat of parchment with the same logo at the top.

 _Professor Dumbledore_

 _It has come to our attention that you may possess information pertinent to an investigation concerning a threat to the Realm._

 _Your presence is requested for an interview with respect to these matters at one o'clock on the 17th instant. This interview may take some considerable time, so it would be advisable to arrange your schedule accordingly._

 _Method of travel shall be by Floo. The Floo code "Knight Defender" will be valid for you personally, unaccompanied by any other person or entity, for a period of one hour prior to the time of your interview. You will be met upon arrival. You may bring your wand if you wish, but you will be required to surrender it to safekeeping for the time of your interview._

 _You are strictly charged, upon your duty to Her Majesty as Her subject, to divulge nothing of this matter to any other person whatever without authority._

 _E. McKendrick, CGC_

 _For the Chief, MK-1_

Under the signature was a small rune, and beneath that was, "Tap this rune with your wand to signify that you have read, understood, and will comply with these instructions."

Albus read the letter twice through, taking particular note of the Floo code, then tapped the rune with the Elder Wand, at which the letter and the envelope crumbled into dust and vanished.

 _Well, I am summoned, and peremptorily._ Whoever this unnamed Chief of this mysterious organization might be, he did not brook delay. Nor, he suspected, disobedience. He was quite sure that the use of the word requested was a very small courtesy.

Albus glanced at the calendar, then sent a Patronus to the Headmaster to inform him that he had to go up to London tomorrow to take care of some personal business, and would therefore be unavailable to teach his classes.

At one minute past twelve, having fortified himself with a good lunch against whatever might await him, Albus was in the Hogwarts Floo Station. He took a handful of powder and spoke the Floo code loudly and firmly. The emerald flames licked up around him and he was elsewhere.

When he emerged from the Floo fireplace, his first impression was a shock of recognition. _12 Grimmauld Place._

The house had evidently been pressed into service as a Headquarters, as it had been in the days of the Order of the Phoenix. His immediate impression was that it was even busier than it had been in those days. He was met by a middle-aged woman who had the look of an Auror, and evidently expected him.

"Professor Dumbledore, please place your wand in this container." She indicated a stand of small lockers on the side table. He placed his wand in one of the lockers, and it was sealed with a tap of her wand.

She then cast several spells on him, some of which he recognized and one that he did not, to establish that he was indeed Professor Albus Dumbledore, not a Polyjuice impostor and not under Imperious or other mental control.

He was escorted down the hall to what had been a small spare bedroom, but was now fitted up with chairs and a table, on which there was a Dicta-Quill set up and ready for use.

He took a seat and glanced at the clock on the wall, positioned behind him so that he had to turn around to see it. He had twenty minutes until this interview was scheduled to start. If he had learned nothing else in his long years, it was patience. He waited in silence for whoever had summoned him.

At the stroke of one o'clock, the door opened and two men entered. One was clearly military, his erect bearing and decisive manner advertising that as surely as if he wore a uniform. Albus did not recognize him, but the man with him was as familiar as the one he saw in the mirror of a morning.

"Harry." Albus said, rather uncertainly. Harry Potter ... Sir Harry Potter's manner did not encourage the idea that he had set up this meeting to catch up on old times with his former teacher.

Harry and the man with him took seats across the table from Albus, and at a tap of the military man's wand the Dicta-Quill sprang up, ready to write.

"One o'clock, 17 August 2001. Interview with Professor Albus Dumbledore, Case File Resurrection. Present, Evan McKendrick, Deputy Chief, MK-1, Sir Harry Potter, Chief, MK-1." He said.

Harry looked across the table at Albus, his expression sombre and determined. "Professor, I would like your word that you will answer the questions you are to be asked truthfully and completely. I would prefer not to compel the truth from you, but I will do so if I must."

Albus sat silent for a few moments, trying to catch up to all the things he had had no idea of, beginning with the existence of this MK-1. Unlike his own self-appointed and personal effort, it was clearly under the authority of the Crown, and as clearly far better organized. The man who led it, well, that was a lesser surprise.

The ability to compel truth was the stuff of legend, deeply entwined with the roots of the Magic of the Realm itself. Albus realized that there were old and powerful magicks of which even he did not know.

"You have my word. I will tell the truth as I know it, and I will hold back nothing." Albus replied.

Harry looked across the table at him. "The purpose of this investigation is to determine how Voldemort returned from the dead after ... after Godric's Hollow, and whether he could have used such a means to return again after he was killed at the takedown of the Death Eaters."

"First, then, what happened at Godric's Hollow?" Harry said.

Albus took a deep breath. "Much of what happened there is a twice-told tale, known to you above all. When I arrived at the house after the attack, my immediate concern was to find and rescue any survivors. You were, as is well known, the only survivor. In searching the wreckage, I found the bodies of your parents. What I did not find was the body of Voldemort. There was ample evidence that he had been caught in the backlash of his own Killing Curse. That was why I feared his return when all others rejoiced. I set out on a search to find what had become of him."

"With what results?" Harry said.

"I ruled out a number of possibilities. For some time I suspected that he had used a dark magic called a Horcrux, which stores a sundered piece of soul in a physical object. He had certainly attempted to use it, and committed multiple grisly murders in the process, but without success."

"How did you know that?" Harry asked, coolly.

"Had he succeeded, as I eventually found out when I obtained a copy, he would have killed himself. That spell is fatally flawed." Albus said.

"What of the Philosopher's Stone? You would have known about that from your friend and colleague, Nicholas Flamel." McKendrick said.

"I consulted with Nicholas, yes. I had no reason to doubt and every reason to believe that the Elixir could not restore the dead. Many attempts had been made over the years to do just that." Albus replied.

"Why did he not share the Elixir with you? You were friends, after all." Harry asked.

"He did, for a time. That is why I am still healthy and vigorous at my advanced age. The Elixir is very powerful magic, and if it is to work the user is denied the use of magic. Nicholas is an alchemist, so that was acceptable to him. In the end I had to choose between life and power, and I chose power." Albus stopped himself from going on about his motives in that choice. Self-serving excuses would not fly here.

"Was the Stone destroyed after I fought Voldemort?" Harry asked.

"Yes, it was. I made sure that it was done, and known to be so, in an attempt to divert Voldemort away from attempting to steal it. Belatedly, I realized it was not safe at Hogwarts, or anywhere. I should not have brought it into the school at all." Albus replied.

Harry's silent stare across the table gave agreement to that. After a long pause, he asked the next question.

"Did Nicholas Flamel die, or did he make another Stone, or Stones to keep himself alive?"

"Nicholas lived, as far as I know. He went underground after the destruction of the Stone. Centuries of experience had taught him how to do that very skillfully, and he always had a large stock of Elixir on hand. Where he is now, or whether he has or made another Stone, I do not know. I would not even begin to know where to find him. While he agreed to the destruction of the Stone, he did not consider that I had acted well and we ... did not part on good terms. I have had no contact with him since."

Albus bit down on another excuse, and moved on. "Finally, I began investigating the legend of the Deathly Hallows, when I realized belatedly that I had possessed a clue to their existence all along." Albus continued.

"The Deathly Hallows?" McKendrick said.

"The legend itself is in the Tales of Beedle the Bard. It tells the story of three brothers who tricked Death out of three powerful artifacts. The Elder Wand is the most powerful wand ever made, the invisibility cloak is the most effective ever created, and the last of the three, the Resurrection Stone, can bring the dead back to life." Albus said.

"Legends and fairy tales. What led you to believe that there was truth in them?" Harry asked.

"Research led me to more contemporary accounts, dating to the 13th century, of the three Peverell brothers, Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus, who had created the three Hallows. Antioch created the Elder Wand, Cadmus the Resurrection Stone, and Ignotus the invisibility cloak, which legend said was so effective that even Death could not find him." Albus said.

He bit his lip, then continued, "I then realized that I had possessed one of them all along. The Elder Wand is locked up in the anteroom of this building. I took it from the hand of Grindelwald when I defeated him. The Elder Wand has a long and violent history. Its creator was murdered for it, and it passed from hand to hand mostly by theft and murder. Uniquely, it was created only to be a powerful weapon of magic. It had none of the safeguards that all wand makers now embody in their wands."

"What had you planned to do with it?" Harry said. Albus tried reading the expression of his old pupil, but failed except to see a determination that he well knew was a central part of his character.

"Take it with me to the grave. I considered destroying it, but my researches uncovered the fact that there had been at least three attempts to do so. They had all failed, and those who made the attempts had died. Antioch was of no mind to have a weapon that could be broken or destroyed." Albus said.

"As to the invisibility cloak, Harry, it is in your possession. It was passed down through the Peverell family to the Potters, eventually to your father and so to you as his heir after his death." Albus said, keeping his tone as even as he could.

"I see." Was all the reply that Harry gave.

"The Resurrection Stone, there my knowledge is the least complete and conclusive, but I shall withhold nothing from you. I believe that it descended from the Peverells to the Gaunt family. It was set into a ring, which became an heirloom of the Gaunt family and was retained by them even after the family descended into abject poverty. I suspect that Tom Riddle stole it from Morfin Gaunt. He certainly wore it openly at Hogwarts. I was only able to identify it after the fact, using Pensieve memories." Albus said.

He took a deep breath. "I believe that Tom Riddle was wearing the ring with the Resurrection Stone in it the night he ... murdered your parents. The Killing Curse did kill him, but the Resurrection Stone would then have brought him back to life."

"Voldemort was hardly more than a ghost at that point. How would that have been?" Harry asked.

"The little I know about the Resurrection Stone suggests that it can resurrect someone, but it cannot heal them. The legend of the Stone suggests that. Cadmus is said to have used the Stone to bring a loved one back to life, but had little satisfaction of it. If she was alive but suffered from chronic pain and debilitation from lingering injuries, that would account for it." Albus said.

"Voldemort would have used other magic to keep himself alive after that, is what you are saying." Harry said. His tone remained even, judicious.

"Yes. There are spells and rituals, very dark ones, that he could have used to prolong his life at the expense of others, and in his quest for immortality he would certainly have had the opportunity to find and master them." Albus said.

"Why was he particularly interested in the Philosopher's Stone?" Harry asked.

"The Elixir of Life is poorly named. It is actually a particularly powerful and effective healing potion, that heals all wounds or injuries to the body, including those inflicted by old age. The injuries of aging are chronic, so the Elixir must be taken at ever more frequent intervals to keep the ravages of age at bay." Albus replied.

"Where is the Resurrection Stone now?" Harry said.

Albus grimaced, as he made himself confess to yet another failure. "I have no idea. I know he had it at Godric's Hollow, but after that I had only suspicions."

"Severus Snape was in frequent contact with Voldemort for years on end. Did you not have him report on this matter, tell him of the importance of this artifact?" McKendrick said.

"No. That was a judgement that I made. Severus might at any time be tortured to death by Voldemort and I had to assume that in such a case he would tell all that he knew. Having him report on it would be to let him know of its importance. " Albus said.

McKendrick's hard cold expression spoke volumes about his opinion of that decision, but he said nothing.

There was a tap on the door, and a note flew in, landed on the table in front of Harry, and unfolded itself. He read it, nodded, and got up. "Evan, something has come up and I'll leave you to finish up here."

"Good day, Professor." Harry said, and left.

McKendrick said, "Just to sum up, Professor Dumbledore, you knew of the Resurrection Stone but did not task anyone to track its whereabouts, you lost contact with Nicholas Flamel after the destruction of the Philosopher's Stone, so you have no idea where he is or if he has made another, you have no idea whether Voldemort survived the takedown of the Death Eaters."

"Yes, that's correct." Albus said, again biting his lip against excuses.

"If there is anything I can do to help ..." Albus added.

The look he got in return was as cold as an Arctic night. "You were relieved of your position for cause by Her Majesty, Professor. Your help in this or any other matter is neither required nor desired. If you have kept any records of your activities you are required to turn them over to us without delay. Good day. You will be shown out."

McKendrick got up, gathered up the parchments from the Dicta-Quill, and left. The same middle-aged Auror escorted him back out to the Floo. Her manner was not quite that of one escorting a prisoner, but there was not much difference there.

"May I have my wand back?" Albus asked, careful to be politely undemanding.

"Have a seat, Professor. You'll 'ave to wait out on the decision for that." She said, seating herself at a desk.

Albus was quite sure that he retained a good deal of her attention along with whatever she was doing at her desk.

The wait gave Albus time to think, and to begin to process the ordeal he had just been through, as polite and understated as it had been. The memory of being called on the carpet by the Queen would be painful as long as he lived, as it had been entirely justified. Harry had not been the only one his errors had harmed in those dark years. He had taken on too much and done poor justice to those many responsibilities. This had been no less of a reminder of that.

It was about fifteen minutes or so later when Mckendrick came back. He nodded to the Auror, and she got up and unlocked the cubby hole containing the Elder Wand, handing it to McKendrick.

"Professor Dumbledore, the Chief has ruled that you may retain custody of this wand, subject to the conditions that you safeguard it so that it does not pose any threat to the Realm, and inform us immediately through the Headmaster of Hogwarts if there is any attempt against it."

He handed Albus the Elder Wand. He took it and sheathed it. "Thank you."

"Do not thank me, Professor Dumbledore. I think that the Chief is being lenient to his old Professor for old times sake."

Mckendrick's voice went low, and as deadly as a basilisk's stare. "Do not give him any cause to regret that leniency, Professor Dumbledore."


	13. Chapter 13 Memories

**Chapter 13 Memories**

Severus Snape opened the door of his house at the knock, prepared to be rude to whoever had the temerity to disturb him. He had no near neighbours, conducted his lucrative custom potion making business by post, and was well content to have it so. The man at the door was of middle height, well set up and plainly dressed.

"Mr. Snape, my name is Andrew Greengrass." He said quietly.

"Very nice for you, I'm sure. Tell someone who is interested." Severus said, and tried to close the door on him.

A foot in the door stopped it from closing, and a hard shove sent him back a couple of steps. Greengrass came through the door with his wand drawn and a hard determined look on his face.

"Mr. Snape, I am not here for the dubious pleasure of your company. I am on Her Majesty's Service. I have questions to which I require answers." He said. He flicked his wand to show a badge like an Auror's, but with a device that had MK-1 in a roundel below a crown.

Snape considered reaching for his own wand, looked at Greengrass, and decided not to. "Her Majesty's Service. Really."

Snape was very good at intimidating people. He'd perfected the skill with a lot of practice. The sneer rolled right off Greengrass.

"Really. There are a number of things that could happen to you if you refuse to cooperate. Azkaban time is among them. All of them are a light pleasantry compared to what Voldemort would do if he came back to life again." Greengrass replied.

That wiped the sneer off even Snape's face. "Voldemort is dead."

"He died at Godric's Hollow, too. Except, somehow, it didn't take." Greengrass replied.

"What do you want?" Snape said.

"The memories of all the times you were in Voldemort's presence. Untampered with and unedited." Greengrass replied.

Snape swallowed. His training in Occlumency had kept him alive in the years when he had balanced on the knife edge of being Dumbledore's double agent in the Death Eaters. It was valuable still as a barrier against those memories. He was sane because of the barrier and the control it gave him over the recollection of those encounters, when death by torture had been a single wrong word away and others had endured it in his presence. To yield up those memories meant letting down those barriers.

"I reported everything I knew to Professor Dumbledore at the time, Mr. Greengrass. That was brought out at my trial." Snape said.

"We have those reports, Mr. Snape. They are neither complete nor conclusive." Greengrass replied.

He gestured sharply toward the comfortable chair where Snape did his professional reading and what little recreational reading he allowed himself. Snape sat down without argument, looking like a man about to have an aching tooth dealt with by a clumsy tooth-Healer.

Greengrass pulled a large glass vial of many compartments from the small leather pouch on his belt, then a small Dicta-Quill. Snape had no way of knowing what else might be in that belt pouch.

He pointed his wand at Snape, and said, "Severus Snape, as a subject of Her Majesty I command you to answer truthfully and completely the questions I shall put to you on Her Majesty's Service. So mote it be."

The weight of the spell was crushing, backed by enormous power. It lay on his mind like a blanket of lead, and his training in Occlumency was utterly useless against it. It was not a probe that could be avoided or misdirected. Rather it was a weight like the depths of the ocean.

The memories that were called up, extracted and put into the vial were many, going all the way back to the times when he had plotted and schemed to save the life of Lily. He had avoided, as much as he could, actually being in Voldemort's presence. So, of course, had the rest of the Death Eaters. Such a summons was a game of dice with the Devil, and the Devil only had to win once.

One by one Greengrass had him call up the memories, and one by one they were extracted into the vial and marked with the date and place of the encounter. Snape's memory was photographic, which was one of the traits that made him a potions master, and had helped to keep him alive among the Death Eaters. Keeping track of exactly what lies he had told, when and to whom, was highly necessary to that end.

At the end of the ordeal Snape sat in his chair, utterly wrung out and drenched in sweat. Greengrass removed the truth spell.

"We're done, Mr. Snape. _Obliviate_ is useless against an Occlumens, or else I would use it. I will require you to speak of this matter to no one, unless upon proper authority. Should you fail to observe that stricture, there will be another interview. You would enjoy it less than this one. Understood?" Greengrass said.

Too wrung out to speak, Severus simply nodded acceptance. He would go to Azkaban again rather than go through this again.

Greengrass put the vial and the Dicta-Quill back into his belt pouch, and turned to go. Then he turned back, and said, "Oh, yes. One of your old students sends his regards. Do have a good day, Mr. Snape."

Andrew Greengrass strode out of Snape's house and down the path that led to it, stepped behind a large tree, and activated the Portkey on his belt buckle. There was a whirling sensation, then he came down on the Portkey stage at the new Headquarters of MK-1, Archley Park. He left the stage as quickly as possible. Headquarters was getting more Portkey traffic these days, and having someone else slam into him at the end of a Portkey transit was not pleasant for anyone.

Archley Park wasn't a particularly picturesque place, but it was secure. Like Hogwarts, it was surrounded by wards that made it unmappable, invisible to non-Magicals, and generally very difficult to find or get to by anyone without specific authorized business there. It was a rambling structure, showing its age with additions in different architectural styles. It was book-ended on each end by a pair of tall stone towers. There were no walls or gates, since it had been built as a manor house rather than a castle.

Unlike Hogwarts, it was being gone over with the finest of fine tooth combs to ensure that there were no secret passages, hidden compartments, snakes in the basement or unpleasant surprises generally. Andrew was taking his turn with the others right up to the Chief himself on those working parties. No one was complaining about the work involved. Archley Park had belonged to the Yaxley family for generations. Corban Yaxley's death had left the direct line of the family extinct, and his treason had escheated the property to the Crown. So far, the unpleasant surprises had consisted of two Vanishing Cabinets, one so neglected that it was a death trap, and an assortment of secret compartments with dark artifacts stored in them.

Andrew headed back to his desk in the wing of the building now belonging to Investigations. He was not particularly looking forward to going through those memories. Severus Snape's mind, he was sure, was no place anyone would want to be, and those memories were of the darkest times that mind could remember.

"Wotcher, Andrew." Tonks greeted him.

He replied with a wave. She added, "How did it go with Snape?"

"Unpleasant as ever. I got what we needed, though. Not looking forward to combing through those memories." He replied.

"Ah, well, you might just get a pass on that job. There's a new procedure for handling evidence and documents. Hermione's setting that up, so you'll need to go learn the spells. Off you go." She said.

Andrew went down the hallway to what had been the Great Hall, back when the Yaxley family had actually had a social life and people to dine with, then to the Administration wing where Hermione Granger ruled supreme. There were a couple of new signs. One read Evidence, the other Analysis.

Since he had evidence, he knocked on the door.

"Come." The voice was gruff.

Andrew entered, and was greeted by crusty looking oldster at a counter. His bald head was surrounded by a fluff of white hair. His manner was sharp and alert. Andrew could see long shelves behind him, mostly empty with with some objects on them.

"Alistair Cranwell. I've come on get the evidence storage sorted out." He said.

 _Must be one of Hermione's hires from the Ministry._ If he had been an Auror, Andrew would have known him. The Corps was small enough that everyone knew everyone. Evidence handling was one of the miserable thankless jobs in MLE that no one liked or wanted, so it didn't get done very well.

"Andrew Greengrass. I was told to come down here. I've got a bunch of Pensieve memories from an interview." Andrew replied.

"Ah, well, that's not me. Memories are considered documents, so you'll need to take them over to Analysis. You will need to know the procedure for physical evidence." Cranwell replied. He spent the next ten minutes running Andrew through the procedure, which was pretty straightforward.

"How do I get evidence back if I need it?" Andrew asked. That had been a perennial problem in MLE. It had, in fact, cost him a couple of cases when the needed evidence couldn't be found.

"You use a Structured Query Spell. They'll run you through that in Analysis, but let me demonstrate. Which file are you working at the moment?" Cranwell replied.

"Resurrection." Andrew replied.

Cranwell made a complex wand movement, then intoned, "Prorsus Invenies, file equals Resurrection, type equals all."

Four of the objects on the shelves whipped up off the shelves and into the air, zipping up to the front and hovering in the air over the counter. Neat flags with lettering on them gave the name of them, the date collected, the name of the person who had collected them and a section for notes.

There was a wand that had been found in a Death Eater's hideout, a cursed ring with a blue stone, and gloves and a cloak identified as belonging to Voldemort.

"That's all the evidence collected for that file so far. You'll want to be careful about using a wild card search like that, where you just ask for everything. Be careful what you ask for, because you'll get it. You might be buried under it, too." Cranwell gave him a wicked grin. Andrew didn't know if he was winding him up or not, but he wasn't all that keen to find out, either.

"Ad Locum Tuum." Cranwell said. The objects zipped away again to their places on the shelves.

"As long as you file your evidence properly, you'll be able to find it again." Cranwell added.

"Thank you, Mr. Cranwell." Andrew said, stepped back out of the Evidence lockup and over to the Analysis Section.

The Analysis section was a fair size, and already looked busy. Andrew looked around, and decided to hit the area under the sign that said Document Control. He'd been told memories were documents, so he supposed they needed to be controlled.

The young woman who answered the bell on the desk was quite good looking, blonde hair and blue eyes, about Andrew's height. She was wearing reading glasses, and looked at him over the top of them. "Good morning, ma'am. I'm Andrew Greengrass."

"Mr. Greengrass. Ethel Harley. Pleased to meet you. Just in from the field?" She said.

"Yes, ma'am. I've got some memories from an interview. I was told they needed to be brought here." He said.

"Yes, they do. We're still setting up the system, but we've got it up and running. What have you got?" She said, cheerfully.

Andrew didn't recognize her, either. "A lot of memories from an interview that I did today."

"Ah, yes." She put a parchment form in front of him, with a Dicta-Quill. Filling in the form was done as fast as you could speak. If you miss-spoke or the answer didn't make sense, it flashed red to prompt you to try again. The information on the labels was transferred magically.

While that was going on, he had a little time to chat with, as it rather disappointingly turned out, Mrs. Ethel Harley. She was non-Magical born, returned to the magical world after the Restoration. She had worked at the British Library, the largest library in the non-Magical world and been scooped out of her job at the Ministry by Hermione.

"Do you know the Structured Query Spell?" Mrs. Harley asked.

"No. I've seen a demonstration, that's all." Andrew said.

"Ah, right then. We'll get to where we can run formal courses, but I expect that will be awhile, with all we've got going on."

She ran him through a condensed teaching session on the spell. The spell itself wasn't all that difficult, though you had to be precise about the wand movement. There were actually two, one for a physical object and one for a record. What he really had to work hard for was the process of specifying exactly what record you wanted, or searching the records for what you wanted. It used something called Boolean algebra. He'd never heard of it. Andrew's marks in Arithmancy had been passable, no more, but it wasn't too bad once you got the hang of it.

You could put together a search string that could specify all interviews of a certain person, interviews conducted with reference to a particular file, interviews about a certain person or subject, and so on, limited only by your mastery of the subject. AND and OR had their own specific meanings, and the were others like NAND and XOR.

"You'll get a lot of practice, Mr. Greengrass. No more of keeping personal files in your desk. It's all here, and can be accessed by anyone. One last thing. You recall that there's the option to call up the physical document, or just the image of it if you all you want to do is read it. You can call up the image from anywhere." She said.

"Anywhere. So, if I'm out in the field, and I need to check something in the records ..." He said.

She smiled. "Just so. Do the search, specify that you want an image, and find out what you need right there. No need to Portkey back here, search the records, get the document and so on." She said, looking pleased.

Andrew was pleased, too. That was going to cut out a whole lot of wasted time. "Brilliant. Who invented that?"

"I did, actually. The Chief and Miss Granger were quite emphatic that anything that can be done by magic, should be." She said.

"Not for worlds would I disagree with the Chief." Andrew said.

He sobered a little. "Now that they're in the system and can be retrieved at a moment's notice, I do need to go through them to find out what I need to know."

She smiled and pointed over to a sign that said, "Document Analysis". "They're the folks you want to talk to about that. I'm just the librarian."

Andrew headed on over to the office she had pointed him toward. They were, he noticed, right next to the large office marked H. Granger, Head of Administration.

He came in the door and looked around, a little uncertainly. There were several desks in cubicles, with different signs over them. The people at the desks were working, but at what he couldn't understand.

The man in the corner cubicle looked up and said, "Can I help you?"

"Ah, yes. My name is Andrew Greengrass, and I brought in some Pensieve memories from an interview. They need to be gone over for the information I need." Andrew said.

Thorley Ashdown, the Head of Analysis, was again quick and efficient. The form he had to fill out was headed Request for Analysis. He had to specify what he wanted, and what documents he wanted it extracted from. He hesitated a little over the box marked Priority.

"Mr. Greengrass, you look uncertain." Ashdown said.

"Priority. How do you determine that?" Andrew asked.

"By urgency, Mr. Greengrass. 1 is someone's about to burn down London, 5 is when we get to it. What file is this?" He said.

"Resurrection." Andrew replied.

Ashdown looked at the request, and raised an eyebrow. "Voldemort coming back from the dead. I think we can safely say that's a 2. You'll have it today."

He looked back at the form. "Severus Snape. I remember him. Is he a person of interest in this investigation?"

Andrew thought about that, and nodded. "I'd say yes."

"You'll want to put him on the map, then." Ashdown pointed over to another door marked, "Map Room. Authorized Personnel Only".

Andrew headed over there, knocked on the door and stepped back a little as an eye opened in the middle of the door and said, "Authorization." in a sepulchral tone.

At his puzzled look, the eye said, "Your wand."

"Oh." Andrew said, drew his wand and flicked it to show his MK-1 credential. The eye closed again and the door creaked open.

The room he entered had a high ceiling, reminiscent of the Great Hall in Hogwarts, and was lit by a lot of magic lights all over the ceiling. The high walls were occupied by very large maps of Britain, done in great detail. There were large heavy leather bound books below each of them.

Andrew recognized the man standing beside one of the maps, casting a very complex looking spell, at once. There was a time when every Auror in Britain had been looking for him as an escaped multiple murderer. Nowadays, Sirius Black was as respectable a pillar of the establishment as anyone's heart could desire. Andrew waited for him to finish.

He turned to see Andrew, and said, "Good day. Can I help you?"

"I hope so. I need to put someone on the Map." Andrew said.

"Ah. Person of Interest?" Sirius replied.

"Yes." Andrew replied.

Sirius walked him through the process, under the big map labeled Persons of Interest. "You'll need something of the person. What do you have?"

"Would a Pensieve memory do?" Andrew said.

"Yes. Very well, in fact." Sirius said.

Andrew did a SQS retrieval, taking a couple of tries before he got it right, and Sirius showed him the spell to put Snape into the book. He sent the memory back as soon as they were done with it.

"The Map tracks, well, the pattern of someone's mind. That's why it will show someone even if they are an Animagus or under Polyjuice. You need something that contains that pattern. Pensieve memories are good for that." Sirius said.

Andrew looked up at the Map. "I don't see him."

"You need to tell the map to show the person. If we had everyone up all the time, it would get very cluttered." Sirius flipped through the book to the page for Snape, tapped it with his wand, and pointed up to the map at a small marker with a flag that said, "Severus Snape".

"He's at home." Andrew said. *Anything that can be done by magic, should be. The Chief really means that.*

Sirius smiled, and tapped the page again with his wand, causing the marker to vanish. "You'll be able to track him any time."

"Brilliant." Andrew said, with complete sincerity.

He headed back to his desk. _The first thing I was told when I came on board was that secrecy was absolutely necessary because otherwise there'd be a bloody panic. They were talking about Operation Beowulf, but I can think of a lot of people who'd run screaming into the night if they knew about all this. They'd much rather that the Auror Corps was slow and inefficient, with plenty of room for evidence or records to get lost. That's why it is._

He had been back at his desk for about two hours, reading up on some interviews that had been done by another field agent, when a Patronus showed up. "Your Pensieve analysis is in Document Control."

Andrew cast the SQS spell to bring it up, and read through it. He didn't know how someone was able to go through a couple of days worth of Pensieve memories in a few hours, but he certainly wasn't going to complain about it.

He read the report quickly, and frowned. Efficiency didn't guarantee good news. It did mean you got the bad news faster.

"Tonks. I think we've got a problem here." He said.

She looked up from her desk and said, "Oh? What problem is that?"

Andrew replied, "Voldemort was wearing Morfin Gaunt's ring, with the Resurrection Stone in it, three hours before his death."


	14. Chapter 14 Mysteries

**Chapter 14 Mysteries**

Just why the Director General of MI-5 should have a box next to her office window with a perch and a selection of owl treats was a question those responsible for installing it knew better than to ask, and a subject they knew better than to gossip about. At the tap on the window, Dame Stella Worthington got up from her desk and opened the window. The great snowy owl held out its leg, and she took the small packet from its leg.

At her touch, it expanded into a letter, written with a quill on parchment, with the address, "Dame Stella Worthington, DG MI-5, Thames House, Millbank, London SE1".

On the bottom right hand corner was written, "For the hand of the Director General Only".

Dame Stella knew that was not simply advisory. The packet had opened up to a readable letter at the touch of her hand. For anyone else, it would remain a small packet. Any attempt to open it by other means would destroy it.

To: DG MI-5

From: Chief, MK-1

Re: Resurrection File

Attachments: 1 sketch.

1\. Have now established that Voldemort was brought back to life by a magical artifact known as the Resurrection Stone. Sketch of its appearance attached. It is further established that it was in Voldemort's possession on the day of his death at Little Hangleton. This artifact remains unlocated.

2\. Inquiries have been set in motion to ascertain the location of this artifact, and to ensure that it is found in order to forestall any attempt by remaining Death Eaters to use it to bring him back to life again.

3\. As the village of Little Hangleton is under the control of Her Majesty's non-Magical Government, the following is requested:

1\. A thorough search of the site of the operation against Voldemort be conducted, to see if this ring was lost during the operation, or fell into other hands in that time frame.

2\. Establish the exact fate of Voldemort's body, which was taken into custody by Non-Magical authorities, and confirm its current status.

4\. The Resurrection Stone is a powerful magical artifact, with the power to bring the dead back to life. What other properties it may have we do not know at this point. Strongly recommend handling it with care if it is found.

5\. Strongly recommend that, if it has not already been done, Voldemort's body be destroyed as thoroughly as possible, to reduce as much as possible the chance that his remaining followers may succeed in bringing him back to life.

6\. I will keep you advised on new developments.

H. J. Potter, KCVO

Chief, MK-1

 _Well, our new colleague does not let the grass grow. A very good thing, too._ Dame Stella took a look at the sketch. An ornate ring, apparently gold, with a plain black stone incised with a simple design.

The power to bring the dead back to life sounded impressive, but these days a paramedic with a defibrillator could do that, too. The question of whether it would work on a man whose head, and the brain within it, had been disrupted by a .338 calibre rifle bullet remained unanswered.

 _Sir Harry is erring on the side of caution, and very rightly so._ She pressed the button on her intercom. "Cyril, please have Owl report to my office."

Project Owl was the fruit of negotiations between MI-5, MI-6 and MK-1. They were authorized to maintain small cells of agents who were read in to the secret of the Magical world, on the condition of cooperation with MK-1 to ensure that the Statute of Secrecy was maintained, inside and outside of MI-5 and MI-6.

Dame Stella would have liked to have those cells composed, or partly composed, of wizards, but given the enormous task Her Majesty had dropped on Sir Harry's shoulders they had agreed to give him first call on available recruits for the time being. Dame Stella had dropped the hint to the Deputy Chief of MK-1 that any MMS members who wanted a second career would get very favourable consideration should they come her way.

Andre Norton was a very ordinary looking woman who wrote fantasy novels under a pseudonym as a hobby. That open-mindedness was one of the primary qualifications for the job she now had.

"Ma'am?" She greeted the DG as she came into the office.

"We have a request from MK-1." Dame Stella replied, turning the letter and the sketch so that she could see them. Norton's reaction was the brief lift of an eyebrow.

"We'll get cracking on this straight away, ma'am." Norton replied. She did not touch the memo or the sketch, or need to. She had a photographic memory and was a talented artist as well.

She looked thoughtful, then nodded. "Cover shouldn't be a problem, at any rate, but we'll still want to keep it as quiet as possible. It's quite true that we are looking into terrorist activity after all."

Norton made to go, then turned back. "Ma'am, if this artifact can bring a person back to life, why is there only the one? We have defibrillators in every hospital, after all."

"Good question, Andre, to which I don't have a good answer. That is one of the many mysteries that the Magical world harbours. I would suspect the answer is unpleasant." Dame Stella replied.

Norton nodded, and left.

* * *

Harry was irritated. His time had a definite value these days, seeing that it was increasingly rare. The Assistant to the Head of the Department of Mysteries had told him to have a seat. Harry was by now well aware of that bureaucratic game. You kept someone waiting to show your own importance, and impress on them that their business was more important than your business.

He'd had to pass through a maze of security checkpoints and offices where there always seemed to be someone else whose permission need to be gained, and waited for. He'd arrived in good time for his appointment to allow for a security check. In fact, Harry had arrived five minutes early at the anteroom to the Head's office. He glanced at his watch, and saw that he was five minutes behind time.

Harry took his hat and cloak off the hat stand and swirled the cloak around his shoulders. For some business, non-Magical business suits were better. For dealings with the Ministry, you were better off dressing in formal style for the Magical world.

The Assistant looked up from his desk, where he had been studiously and obviously studying a sheaf of parchment, no doubt a report on paperclip usage or some such. He was an elderly man, with a straggly electric blue moustache and chin beard. "Mr. Potter ..."

Harry had encountered entirely too much of this foot-dragging, and tolerating it meant perpetuating it. He would have much preferred to deal on a business-like level, preferably with some goodwill for fellow servants of the Crown on Her Majesty's Service thrown in. His preferences weren't getting very much attention.

"That is Sir Harry Potter to you. The time for my appointment is now five minutes in the past. I do not have time to wait on your Department Head to finish his tea and read the Prophet. Since he evidently does not read his memos from the Minister, I shall return when he has, and in the meantime I shall mention that omission to the Minister." Harry said, putting on his hat.

The Assistant's top-lofty manner dissolved into an expression of concern. "Sir Harry, Sir Harry, please wait a moment."

He flicked his wand and a Patronus formed and vanished through the wall. Seconds later another one returned, and the Assistant said, "The Head will see you now, Sir Harry. Apologies for the delay."

Harry was shown into the office, and the the Head Unspeakable was behind his desk. "Augustus Croaker, Sir Harry. My apologies for the delay. My Department deals with fundamental and dangerous forces, and we protect our secrets and our independence. In this case, a little too zealously."

"Is this how you treat all your visitors?" Harry said.

"No, Sir Harry." Croaker said.

Harry gave him a hard look. "Either you are in command here, or you are not. If you are, then your people take their cue from you. If you are not, then you need to get a grip."

"It will not happen again, Sir Harry. Once again, my apologies. Please, have a seat." Croaker said, the apology genuine as far as Harry could tell.

Harry took a deep breath and bridled his temper. Like it or not, he needed to work with this man. Harry took the well worn leather chair by the desk, and looked around the office. It looked like most Ministry offices. It was paneled in dark wood, lit by magic lights in the corners. Framed diplomas on the wall behind the desk were flanked on each side by shelves holding complex artifacts with no obvious purpose.

Harry replied, "My organization deals with threats to the Realm, Mr. Croaker. Secrecy and independence are concerns for me as well. We both owe a duty to Her Majesty. If we do not cooperate, the Defence of the Realm will be hampered, and neither of us will be doing that duty properly. "

Croaker frowned. "You make your point. What is the business that brings you here?"

"Voldemort. Specifically, whether or not he has been able to use the Resurrection Stone to return to life after the Restoration. Death and resurrection are within the remit of your Department, I believe." Harry said.

"Yes, they are, Sir Harry." Croaker replied.

"Very well, then, what can you tell me about the Resurrection Stone?" Harry said.

Croaker flicked his wand, and shortly a file folder came sailing in, settling itself in his In basket. Croaker took it and opened it. "It was created by Cadmus Peverell in the 13th century, and passed down through the descendants of the Peverell family to the Gaunts. To our knowledge Morfin Gaunt was the last person definitely known to have possession of it. We do not believe he was aware of its powers."

"That is known to me. Albus Dumbledore was able to identify it as having been in the possession of Voldemort, which makes it likely that Voldemort stole it from him, since he would not have given it up of his own volition. Investigation, conducted by MK-1, has established that Voldemort retained possession of it, and wore it from time to time over the years. Whether he was aware of its powers or not, has not been established. We are reasonably certain that the Stone was used to bring him back to life after he died at Godric's Hollow." Harry said.

Croaker flipped over a page of the file, and nodded assent. "Professor Dumbledore suspected that, and we had that information from him."

"Did you make any effort to find it?" Harry said.

Croaker visibly hesitated, deciding whether to answer. "No, Sir Harry. Contrary to certain persistent rumours, we are a research organization. We cooperated with Professor Dumbledore's inquiries, and we exchanged information with him, that was all."

"Is there any way to detect or track the Stone?" Harry said.

"No. Cadmus was a very secretive man. The stone includes safeguards against such spells." Croaker replied, looking down at the file.

Harry probably looked as sour as he felt. "Of course, it couldn't be that easy."

"It almost never is, Sir Harry. The nature of such artifacts is such as to attract people who are quite willing to use mayhem to get what they want." Croaker replied.

"Have you made any effort to bypass those safeguards and create such a spell?" Harry said.

"No, Sir Harry. That was my decision. The Stone is a powerful artifact, but its effect is benign for the most part." Croaker replied.

"Well, from my side, I would say that Voldemort returned to life again is not benign at all. I would request that you commence such an effort, sooner rather than later." Harry replied.

"You make your point, Sir Harry. I will set such a project in hand at once. Fair warning, however, I cannot guarantee success." Croaker replied, closing the file.

"Is that everything?" Croaker said, clearly wanting to wind up this interview.

"No, Mr. Croaker. There is also the matter of Nicholas Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone. "

"What about them?" Croaker's expression turned wary.

"The Philosopher's Stone, among other properties, produces the Elixir of Life, which is an exceptionally powerful healing potion. Voldemort attempted to get his hands on it when he was hanging on to life by a thread after Godric's Hollow. I would say it is likely he would do so again. I have some questions on that matter." Harry said.

"A moment, if you please, Sir Harry." Croaker said, flipped his wand, and waited for another file to arrive in his In box.

"Do you know, or can you find out, where Flamel is? It would be very helpful to this urgent investigation if we could interview him." Harry said.

Croaker opened the file, read briefly, then looked up at Harry. "We don't know where he is, Sir Harry. As to finding out, we have not tried and I doubt whether we could if we did. Nicholas Flamel has survived for over 600 years by being very good at hiding."

Harry adjusted his glasses, taking a little time to think. He was willing to grant that Croaker was telling the truth, but that didn't mean he was telling everything he knew.

"Do you have any means of getting in touch with him or sending a message to him?" Harry asked.

Harry knew he had struck a nerve when Croaker went still and silent. "So, you do. I would like a message sent. Tell him there is a conspiracy afoot to bring Voldemort back to life, to which end there will be Death Eaters looking for him. Tell him that the Chief of MK-1 would like to talk to him, and will guarantee safe-conduct to and from the meeting place, and that he will be free to leave whenever he wishes."

Croaker looked reluctant, then spread his hands. "Very well, Sir Harry, I will do my best to convey that message to him. It is not nearly as simple as sending a letter by owl post. Whether he will comply with that request is not within my control."

"Understood, Mr. Croaker. If you do your best, angels can do no more." Harry said.

Harry settled his glasses more firmly, then said, "What can you tell me about the Philosopher's Stone and the Elixir of Life?"

"Very little that you do not already know. It is, as you have said, an extraordinarily powerful healing potion. We have tried to recreate the process of producing a Philosopher's Stone, but we have not been successful. Nicholas Flamel is a very secretive man, and he has not shared that information, or much other, with us, despite the efforts of me and my predecessors." Croaker said, closing the file folder.

"One last question, then. In your opinion, if someone had the Resurrection Stone, Voldemort's body and the Elixir of Life, could that someone restore Voldemort to life?" Harry said.

Croaker leaned back and chewed his lip, looking down at the file on his desk. "Yes, Sir Harry, in my opinion that is possible."

* * *

Andre Norton looked down at the grave in the little parish cemetery a few miles from Little Hangleton. It had taken a concerted effort, using the resources of both the Magical and non-Magical worlds, to bring her here. The decision had been taken to bury Voldemort's body, quickly and secretly, so that it would not be a magnet for the curious, not to mention any left-over Death Eater sympathizers.

It would have been better if he had been cremated, but it was easy to be wise after the fact, and resurrecting the dead wasn't normally a factor in making such decisions.

The grave stone said, "Ned Ogle", and the dates. The parish register, should anyone care to look, gave the name of a real person, who had died when the grave stone said he had. He had been an indigent, with no family that anyone knew about.

Norton had told the local Constabulary that it was an MI-5 matter, which was all they needed to know. They were doing security duty around the perimeter of the graveyard to ensure that there would be no prying eyes, far enough away that they would not see anything either.

Jim Coulter had been a soldier in the Royal Engineers, so he was well able to take on the job of running the backhoe to excavate the grave. It was not long before the shovel of the backhoe exposed a cheap pine coffin. The nylon straps that had been used to lower it into the grave were still there, so once they were hooked on to the teeth of the backhoe shovel, Jim could bring it out of the grave easily.

Once it was on the ground beside the grave, Andre and Jim could start removing the iron lag screws that held the lid on the coffin. Cheap as they were, they were already rusty. Slowly they came out of the wood, with reluctant squeaking sounds. All that done, Jim and Andre lifted the lid and set it to one side.

 _Well, bloody Hell. I suppose this funeral wasn't as secret as we thought it was._ Andre's face was grim and set as she looked down into a coffin that was empty of any body.

She dusted the earth off her hands, and pulled her cell phone from the holster on her belt. "Secure line to the Director. Priority. ... Director, this is Owl. I've just exhumed the grave of Subject Victor. It's empty. No body there at all. ... Yes, Director, I'm going to be following that up. ... I may need some assistance from our friends on the other side."


	15. Chapter 15 Talking To An Alchemist

**Chapter 15 Talking To An Alchemist**

The letter came to Harry's desk by owl post, having been scanned for anything harmful. It was from Croaker, the Head Unspeakable. Harry tapped it with his wand, and it opened up into a readable letter.

 _Sir Harry_

 _I have arranged a meeting with Nicholas Flame. He was absolutely steadfast as to the terms, which were as follows:_

 _The meeting is to be you personally, alone. As an earnest of good faith, you may retain your wand._

 _The meeting is to be on neutral ground, chosen by him. To that end he will send me a Portkey, which I will in turn pass on to you. It will only activate at the time of the time of the meeting. The time of the meeting will be communicated with the Portkey._

 _Any use of magic against him will be deemed a hostile act, and will result him leaving by Portkey forthwith.*_

 _At the first indication of any violation of these terms, he will leave by Portkey and will have no further contact with either of us._

 _Augustus Croaker_

 _Head Unspeakable_

"Evan, a word?" Harry said. He didn't have to pitch his voice very loudly. Evan's office was right next to his, with a connecting door that was almost always open.

When Evan entered, Harry pointed to the letter. "I'd like you to take a look, and tell me what you think."

Evan read it, cocked an eyebrow, and reread it. "I don't like it. I don't like it at all. It could very easily be a trap."

Harry frowned. The same thought had occurred to him. "I can't say I'm very happy about it myself, but we need that information, Evan. We need it badly. I really don't see another way to get it. Trying to find Flamel against his will could take forever."

Evan mulled that over. "I can't call you wrong on that, but I still don't like it. If you're bound and determined to do this, then I'll look at ways to mitigate the risk."

"Yes, Evan, I'm going to do it. What do you recommend?"

Evan took another look at the letter. "The terms are no use of magic against him. That doesn't bar protections on you, and it doesn't bar providing the means for you to get the hell out of it if it goes all pear-shaped."

Evan pointed two fingers at Harry. "I still think it's a bad idea. I'll get a plan together and we'll go over it."

The Portkey arrived two days later at 8:00 am. Attached to it was a parchment tag that said, "2:00 pm, today."

At five minutes to the hour, Harry was standing in his office with the Portkey in his hand. Like most such, it was a common object, in this case a small wooden carving of a Quidditch team's crest, the Harpies. He watched the hands of the clock creep toward the hour, and rehearsed the plan, plans actually, in his head. Nicholas Flamel no doubt thought he had all his bases covered. When you were up against Evan McKendrick and Hermione Granger, you might very well find you had thought wrong.

On the dot of the hour, the sensation of Portkey transit took him. He waited out the whirling chaos until he arrived at his destination, and looked around. It was a small island, he had no idea where. What of the vegetation he could see said it was in a temperate climate somewhere. The sun was shining and the temperature was comfortable.

Harry set his glasses firmly in place, then looked around. A few seconds later he heard a rushing sound, and there was a man standing there. Nicholas Flamel was an elderly looking pale-complexioned white haired man of medium height, dressed in white robes. His manner was gentle. He looked like a grandfather on a visit to his grandchildren.

"My name is Nicholas Flamel. I am here to meet the Chief of MK-1." He said. The voice was an even baritone, younger than his appearance.

"My name is Sir Harry Potter, KCVO. I am the Chief of MK-1." Harry replied.

"Harry Potter. Albus told me of you. What is this MK-1 that you are Chief of?" His manner gave away nothing.

Harry reminded himself that Flamel had been born around the same time as the creators of the Deathly Hallows. Trying to lie to him would undoubtedly be futile, and giving him information was a risk. Still, he could see no harm in answering the question.

"Her Majesty has reasserted her authority over Her Magical Realm. MK-1 is a secret organization, created by Her Majesty's order, tasked to find and neutralize threats to the Realm before they become existential."

"A stitch in time. I see." He said.

"A great responsibility, and you are very young to bear it. I wish you well, but what has that to do with one tired old man who only wishes to be left alone?" Flamel said after a pause.

"You are not a threat to the Realm, Mr. Flamel, as far as I am aware. The same cannot be said of Voldemort, or the people who are trying to bring him back to life. Those people will certainly not be willing to leave you alone." Harry replied.

"How would they find me?" Flamel said. "As far as the world knows, I am dead."

"Not all of the world. I found out you were alive, and I am here." Harry said.

"Just how did you find out? That secret was known to very few people." Flamel's gentle manner gave way to a sharp focused attention.

"MK-1 has many sources of information. You do not have the need to know what any of them might be." Harry replied.

Flamel's manner returned to its grandfatherly norm. "My friend Albus told you, perhaps?"

"Are you still friends? I am told you parted on bad terms after the episode of the Philosopher's Stone." Harry said.

Flamel smiled. "It was Albus, then. How is he?"

"Retired." Harry realized he'd just given up some information he didn't want Flamel to have. *Best if I get on point here.*

"As I have some personal reason to know, Voldemort very much wished to get his hands on the Philosopher's Stone. That was after he came to life again after dying at Godric's Hollow. I was told that the Philosopher's Stone hidden at Hogwarts was destroyed after Voldemort nearly got his hands on it. Was it?" Harry said.

"The Hogwarts Stone was destroyed, Mr. Potter. It was done before witnesses, and Albus, with my cooperation, made sure the fact was known at the time." The grandfatherly demeanor remained unchanged, and his voice was even and emotionless. Flamel was by no means an easy man to read, nor had Harry expected he would be.

"Was that the only Philosopher's Stone?" Harry said. *It would be nice if I could make sure he was telling the truth. If I take out my wand, he'll be gone in an instant.*

"That was the only Philosopher's Stone in existence at that time." Flamel said.

 _He's measuring out his words with a damned potion dropper. Even if he is telling the truth, I have no way to know how much of the truth he's telling._ "Have you since created another Stone, or Stones?"

"I will decline to answer that question, Mr. Potter. That is my private business." Flamel replied.

"That's a yes, then." _Perhaps I can prod him into dropping his guard._

"I will neither confirm nor deny that, Mr. Potter. What I create is mine, and what I choose to create is my business. I will guard my own, as I have done these six centuries and more." Flamel said. His manner remained impenetrable, unreadable.

"How do you do that, when you cannot use magic?" Harry said.

"Albus shared much with you, I see. No doubt he felt guilty at how badly he mismanaged that whole affair." Flamel said.

"How do you feel about that whole affair, Mr. Flamel? I was very nearly killed, and Voldemort came as near as a toucher to getting his hands on the Stone." Harry replied.

"Apportioning blame for the past is something I have long since given up. I acted as I thought best at the time." Flamel said.

"Why do you keep the Elixir of Life to yourself? You seem to be tolerably healthy and sane after using it for a long time." Harry said.

"I am, Mr. Potter. Why I choose to do so is also my personal business, which I am under no obligation to share with you." Flamel said.

"Let me pose a hypothetical case, Mr. Flamel. Suppose someone had his head shattered by a rifle bullet, was then buried secretly, his body exhumed and those who had possession of his body desired to return him to life. Would the Resurrection Stone and the Elixir of Life be enough to return him to life?" Harry said.

For the first time in the conversation, Harry saw Flamel actually show some emotion as he rubbed his chin. "Why would anyone wish to do that, Mr. Potter? Voldemort was feared, not beloved, in his life. Those who followed him did so from greed and the lust for power, not loyalty."

 _Now we are finally getting somewhere._ Harry said, "You are quite correct that Voldemort ruled by fear, Mr. Flamel. He did not rely on loyalty, he ensured obedience. Those who are trying to return him to life are trying to avoid their own deaths by doing so."

Flamel paused again, then spoke, carefully. "In this hypothetical case, Mr. Potter, speaking theoretically, it would be possible as long as the body remained reasonably intact, with some or most of its tissues reasonably well preserved. The amount of damage you describe would require more than one attempt, perhaps many."

"More than one?" Harry replied.

"The Elixir's effects are not instantaneous, Mr. Potter. The body would have to be revived, the Elixir administered, and some healing would take place before the person died again of his injuries. The person would then have to be revived again, more Elixir administered, and more healing take place. Such a process would have to be repeated as long as required. By the time the person was fully resurrected and healed, he would have died in agony many times over. I think his sanity would be very questionable at that point." Flamel said.

Harry snorted. "Voldemort's sanity was very questionable to start with, Mr. Flamel. If he were less sane at the end of such a process, I do not see where the threat to the Realm would be reduced on that account."

"This hypothetical case you describe is not hypothetical. Someone has hold of Voldemort's body." Flamel said.

"I will neither confirm nor deny that, Mr. Flamel." Harry said. _Let's see how you like being paid out in your own coin._

"Continuing with this hypothetical situation, how could we ensure that Voldemort's body could not be resurrected again, ever?" Harry said.

Flamel frowned, then composed his expression again. "The pattern that determines a person's ... uniqueness is written all through the body. It would be necessary to destroy the body completely, sterilize it of all trace of life, reduce it to ashes."

"Would Fiendfyre be enough?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Fiendfyre would be enough." Flamel replied, for once definitely.

Flamel cocked his head. "Do you understand the magics you bear upon you, Mr. Potter? I may not be able to use magic, but I can still sense it in others. You are wrapped around in old and powerful magic, that goes back to the days of Merlin and Arthur. Long forgotten magic, and as far as I am concerned better so."

 _Trying to frighten me, are you, Mr. Flamel? I was sorted into Gryffindor for a reason, and I have seen a thing or two since._ "What has been forgotten may be remembered, Mr. Flamel. In those days the Magical and non-Magical worlds stood together, and they were stronger together than they were apart. We have remembered that old wisdom. I have friends in the non-Magical world, powerful ones. With or without your help, we will deal with this threat."

"I see why Albus has such a high opinion of you, Mr. Potter." Flamel said.

Harry looked at the pale face, with its unreadable expression, and decided make another play. "I have a problem with all that you have told me, Mr. Flamel. It is in the first place incomplete, and in the second place I have no means of knowing whether any of it is true. You have had a very long time to learn how to lie convincingly."

"That is rather your problem, not mine, Mr. Potter." Flamel said.

"If Voldemort is brought back to life and comes looking for you, it will be your problem, Mr. Flamel." Harry said. If Flamel had any loyalty to anyone except his wife, Harry wasn't seeing it, but self-interest was usually pretty reliable.

"So, what do you suggest, Mr. Potter?" Flamel said.

"An earnest of intent. A Pensieve memory. Chosen by you, of one event. The destruction of the original Philosopher's Stone that was at Hogwarts, so I can know that actually happened, would be my suggestion, but another if you prefer." Harry said.

Flamel stood silent for a time, then raised an eyebrow. "If I were to give you that, you would believe what I said?"

"It would certainly help me along that road, Mr. Flamel." Harry said.

"Very well, then, in the interests of seeing that Voldemort remains dead. Draw your wand and hold it out. If you attempt to do anything else but take that memory, Mr. Potter, I will be gone upon the instant." Flamel said.

"You have safe-conduct upon my word as the Chief of MK-1, Mr. Flamel." Harry replied. He took out his wand, slowly, making sure that it was not pointed at Flamel at any time. Flamel concentrated, and a thin grey wisp of memory floated from where his finger rested against the side of his head over to Harry's wand.

Harry took out a vial and dropped the memory into it, sealing it. He sheathed his wand again, taking as much care as when he had drawn it, and pocketed the vial.

"Is there anything else you can tell me that will help me against Voldemort, Mr. Flamel?" Harry said, careful to keep his hands in plain sight as he had all through this conversation.

"No." Flamel said, and vanished.

Harry pulled the Portkey that had brought him to this small island from his pocket, and tapped it with his wand. Nothing. It was as dead as Julius Caesar.

 _I wonder if he wanted me marooned, just didn't care, or thinks of this as some sort of test?_ Harry didn't particularly care. He put the Harpies crest back into his pocket, reached into another and pulled out another, this one bearing the crest of MK-1. A tap of his wand brought the whirling sensation of Portkey transit and a few moments later he was standing in his own office again.

Evan and Hermione were still there, waiting for him with their wands drawn.

"You all right, Harry?" Evan said.

"You should check." Harry replied, careful to keep his hands in sight and not make any suspicious moves.

Evan and Hermione cast spells to ensure he was Harry Potter, not under any sort of compulsion and not bearing with him any hazards.

When they were done, Hermione sheathed her wand and hugged him. "We were worried about you, Harry."

"I was well prepared and protected, thanks to both of you." Harry said.

Harry began putting things on his desk. "Portkey target. You can tell the MMS to stand down, now, Evan."

"Portkey to my office. Good thing I had that. His was a one way." Harry said.

"My old invisibility cloak. Can't leave home without that." He put that on the desk, too.

He put a small wooden box down on the desk, and tapped it with his wand to open it. It opened up to show a Dictaquill, with a long roll of parchment covered with writing. "Transcript for the files, Hermione. Flamel was being pretty cagey, but there were some useful bits all the same."

He pulled the small glass vial out of his pocket, and smiled. "Last, but certainly not least, a Pensieve memory."

They all three exchanged exultant grins. Evan said, "I wasn't sure he'd bite, but it worked. The thing about being in hiding, Harry, is that you have a hard time keeping up with current events."

Harry led the way out of his office and down to the Map Room. The eye opened and said, "Authorization?"

Harry flipped his wand to show his badge, and the door opened. Harry went over to a book marked, "High Priority", drew his wand and went through the set of spells to use the Pensieve memory to put Nicholas Flamel into the book.

When he was done, he handed the memory to Hermione. "Here you go. Please have your people go through this with a fine tooth comb. I wouldn't put it past Flamel to have edited it."

Harry turned to the book, tapped the page with his wand and looked up at the Map. He grinned with triumph. A small marker appeared in Devon, with a flag saying "Nicholas Flamel".

Nicholas Flamel appeared in his chamber in the ancient stone tower in Devon. He had domiciles in many places, including his native France, but here in Devon was his best protected one. Before he had given up wizardry in favour of long life, he had woven many protections around it. Here he felt safe. Here he felt at home.

Perenelle was there waiting for him, looking anxious as she always did when he left the safety of their protected hiding places. "Are you all right, Nicholas?"

"Quite all right, Perenelle. An uncomfortably sharp young man, young Potter, but I was very careful of what I told him. In truth, he is not our enemy, and I can wish him well in his search for Voldemort. However that may go, I will guard our secrets as I always have." He said, soothingly, then sat down in a comfortable armchair upholstered in basilisk hide.

Perenelle brought two glasses of hot mulled wine, aromatic with rare spices over to the small table next to his chair. They sat together in companionable silence, savouring the drinks in the comfort of the room, warmed by a crackling fire and lit by magical lights.

It was only a short time later that he heard a sound behind him. When he turned to look, his mouth fell open in utter astonishment. Three people stood there, wizards with their wands in their hands. One was Harry Potter. He was flanked on either side by a woman and a man Flamel did not know.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Flamel. We need to talk." Harry said.


	16. Chapter 16 Body Snatchers

**Chapter 16 Body Snatchers**

Andre Norton stood over the open grave, her phone in her hand. When you joined MI-5, you left your old life behind. When she had gone into Project Owl, she had left her old reality behind.

When you were conducting an investigation, you started out with whatever was remotely possible, narrowed that down to what was probable, and went with the evidence from there.

 _Right now, I have the problem that I don't know what is remotely possible. All very well for the Director to say we can't recruit wizards, but that's not a whole bloody lot of help right now._

She shrugged. The good news was that there was going to be zero delay in her report, and her request for support, finding its way up the food chain to the Director. Meantime, she was going to do the necessary grunt work of documenting all this, filling in the grave again, and filing her report.

She waved to Anne Callaway, the third member of her team, and they got to it.

Andre and her team didn't go back to Century House, because they didn't work there. There were just too many questions that couldn't be answered even to the highly cleared people in MI-5. They had small rented offices off-site under the cover of a small financial consulting firm that wasn't taking clients right now.

Unusually, and legally only by the fiat of the Director herself, they kept all their records there, too. The safe they were kept in was as tough as any vault in the Bank of England. Their cell phones were highly secure encrypted ones.

Andre's cell phone rang. It was the Director. Even on an encrypted link she was brief, relying on Andre to recognize her voice. "Owl. I've had a talk with our friends on the other side. They've agreed this is important enough to send a liaison officer to work with you. He'll arrive shortly."

"Thank you." Andre said, with perfect sincerity. The call ended.

"Well, we're going to be getting some help." Andre said to Jim and Anne, their look of relief mirroring her own.

MI-5 and MI-6 had been in business for a century, and in all that time they'd never had enough people or enough money. They'd always had too much to do. MK-1 was hardly dry behind the ears, having to invent themselves as they went along and learn on the job. That they'd cracked loose someone to work on this was eloquent testament to just how important it was in both worlds.

It was about twenty minutes later they heard a knock on the door. Andre opened it cautiously. Jim was at his desk in the office, apparently doing nothing in particular but with his hand close to an automatic pistol. Despite the movies, MI-5 agents didn't usually carry weapons, but here too they had a dispensation from the Director.

"Dylan Arnold." He had a wand out, and moved it to produce the logo of MK-1 in the air. He waited for a moment, then moved the wand again to make it disappear.

"Please, come in. The Director phoned ahead." Andre said.

Arnold was a man of medium height, who walked with a limp and had faint healed scars down one side of his face. His voice held a hint of Irish brogue. He entered and closed the door behind him.

"Ms. Norton. I believe we're to be workin' together. The Chief sent me. I've just come over from the MMS, so I'll ask you to be gentle, this bein' my first time and all." He said.

"I'll ask you the same, Mr. Arnold. This is all new to us, too. I think we should sit down with a cuppa and get ourselves caught up." They took seats around the small table in the extra office they used for tea breaks.

Andre sketched out where they were to that point. "When we opened the grave, we found there was no body in it. The problem we have now is that we don't know how that happened. We've got photos and all that to show you. It's pretty plain that we were the only people to open that grave after it was filled in."

Arnold leaned back and rubbed his chin, looking meditative. "There are ways to do that with magic. Not as simple as all that, though. Let's walk through it from the start. I was MMS at the take down of the Death Eaters. I was out on the perimeter, so I didn't see how it happened directly. Voldemort was taken out by a sniper team, that I know. Those lads are good, Ms. Norton. He'd have been dead when he hit the ground.''

"After which the bodies were identified and buried, quickly, quietly and anonymously. No question it was Voldemort's body that went into that hole." Andre said.

"There's a question, then. Who dealt with all of that? The Muggle ... sorry, non-Magical side?" Arnold said

"That's right. That's a fair number of bodies, and it needed to be done quickly." Andre said.

"Not tryin' to argue the toss, but it does leave open the possibility something could have got past them. Something invisible, or small enough it would pass as harmless. If he had a bug out plan and never got to use it, that might account for it." Arnold said.

"Rather like the old movie cliché. You clean up the villain's headquarters, but he has a bolt hole and gets away." Andre replied.

"Not much of a movie fan, ma'am. But, if Voldemort had something that hidden in his robes, surely that would make sense. Matter of fact, it would make sense that it already worked once for him. Godric's Hollow." Arnold frowned, following his train of thought.

Andre raised an eyebrow. "Someone else brought him back to life with this, this Resurrection artifact. He couldn't do it for himself because he was dead."

"Someone else got the body out and brought him back to life. Can't see another way it could have happened. Thing of it is, who would he trust to do that, now? Not a very trusting soul, Voldemort." Arnold said.

"I did read the Beowulf report. If that someone knew he was going to burst into flames if he didn't, he'd be motivated to find a way, all right." Jim said.

"There's that, and I'd say you've the right of it. There's three ways to travel by magic. Floo network, Apparation and Portkey. The Floo network is like a train, it can only go where the tracks are. We can rule that out." Dylan replied.

Nods all around gave assent to that. "Apparation, now, it allows you to travel from anywhere to anywhere, if you know the spell. That's in theory. There are a lot of problems in practice, which is why we license people and require that they be trained. Same as a non-Magical motor car. If you get out on the M-way and don't know what you're about, you can kill yourself and others as well."

"I take it you have to be alive and able to concentrate on what you're doing in order to use it." Anne said, looking thoughtful as she twined a lock of hair around her finger.

"That you do. You have to visualize where you're goin', clearly. Not something to attempt if you're in the middle of dying. Not at all if you're dead." Dylan said. His sharp hand gesture put paid on that idea.

"A Portkey is a physical object with a spell on it. Activate it, and it takes you to the destination. It can only be one destination. It can trigger on a timer, but that's unusual. Most often, it triggers to a key word spoken by the user." Dylan said.

"That fits, then. He had it on him, well hidden, but he never got the chance to use it because he was dead that quickly." Jim said.

Andre pointed at him. "Is there any way to know where a Portkey might take you?"

He smiled wryly. "Don't we just wish that. You use it and see where it takes you."

"Well, we have the files with photographs of the bodies. Maybe we can find something the Coroner missed, now we know there's something to find." Jim said.

Dylan cocked his head toward the safe. "Are the files in there?"

"Yes. I'll open it." Andre replied.

Dylan took out his wand. "No need. _Alohamora._ "

There was a clicking of sound from the safe, and after a few seconds the door swung open.

"What the Hell?" Andre said.

He sheathed his wand quickly and held up his hands. "Tis a well-known spell, and it has its well-known counter. Never fear, I'll make sure that safe is as tight magically as it is physically. Tighter, actually. I can make sure it will only open to the four of us. Even if someone knows the combination, it will do 'em no good at all."

"Any other surprises?" Andre demanded, sharply.

"Sorry, ma'am. Didn't think. You've my word I'll explain any magic I use before I use it if there's time at all, and I'll use no magic on the three of you without your informed free consent. Fair?" Dylan said.

"How do we know we can trust you to keep that?" Jim demanded.

Dylan gave a wry smile. "If I break that pledge, I'll be on the carpet before the Chief. Not a carpet you want to be on, at all, at all."

Andre looked at him carefully. "All right, then. Let's get to work."

"Something a little odd, here." Andre said, a couple of hours later.

She had photos of some of the bodies laid out in front of her, showing the Dark Mark tattooed on their arms. "This tattoo, it's like a gang tat. Means you're a member of the inner circle." She tapped on the photos.

"That's right, Andre." Dylan replied. The long session had worn formality away.

"Does it have any magical properties?" Andre said.

"It's a summons. When Voldemort activated it, it would burn like a red-hot brand. The pain stopped when you Apparated to the meeting place and he stopped it." Dylan made a face of distaste.

"Charming." Anne said, drily.

"Could it be a Portkey?" Jim said.

Dylan shook his head emphatically. "No. A Portkey has to be an inanimate object, and a solid and stable one. Can't be a living thing or a part of one."

She tapped the photograph with Voldemort's tattoo. "Look here. There's a bulge under the skin. It's pretty well hidden by the pattern of the tattoo. Could be something solid under the skin, there."

He grinned savagely. "A Portkey, sure as Hell's a man trap."

Andre looked dubious. "Confirms what we thought. A step ahead, maybe."

"Well, here's a thing. Suppose Voldemort had an inner circle within the inner circle, ones especially useful to him he'd want to get out to start rebuilding his group if it went wrong on him." Dylan said, still grinning.

Four heads bent down over the photos, searching carefully.

At the end of another hour of careful scrutiny, Andre straightened up. "Bellatrix Lestrange and Augustus Rookwood. Both shot through the head and died instantly. Both have that same bulge under their tattoos."

"Aye, makes sense." Dylan said.

"Why those two?" Jim said.

"Lestrange was his torturer and enforcer. Enjoyed it. She was fanatically devoted to him, do anything for him." Dylan said.

Andre nodded agreement. "I can see that. Rookwood?"

"He was Voldemort's agent in the Department of Mysteries. Knew more about magic and the inner workings of the Department than anyone else in the Death Eaters." Dylan said.

"What became of their bodies? More importantly, did whoever got Voldemort's body get theirs as well?" Anne said.

"I'd say we want to crack on and find those bodies, pretty damned quick. If we get hold of one of those Portkeys, then we can find out where they go." Dylan said.

"Sounds right." Andre said, then another thought hit her and she pulled out her cell phone.

"There were only a few people who knew where those graves were and who the bodies in them actually were. I think it would be a bloody good idea to find out if all of them are present and accounted for."

She punched a number on her cell phone from memory. "Secure line to the Director. Priority. ... Director, this is Owl. ... We have reason to believe that one or more of the people who had knowledge of the grave sites of Subject Victor, Subject Victor Three and Subject Victor Five may have been kidnapped and interrogated. ... We have a lead, and we're following it."

Dylan cocked an eye, then took out a bulky looking notebook. He produced a quill pen whose feather was a bright scarlet and began writing.

"What's that?" Jim said.

Dylan looked up and smiled. "Gettin' a message off to the Chief. He needs to be up to date, too. We find one of these bodies with a Portkey, well and good. We can't just ask the owner what the activation word is. I'd say that's one for the boffins. If the Chief has to put a Stinging Jinx up their arses to get 'em moving, can't say that will break my heart."

He wrote quickly for a couple of minutes, then tapped the sheet of paper with his wand and said " _Tolle Fuga_."

The paper rose up into the air, folded itself into a dart-shaped paper airplane and hovered in the air. Dylan went over to the window and cracked it open a couple of inches. The paper airplane darted through the window and was gone, and Dylan secured the window again.

"I thought you used owls for that?" Jim said, a little sharply.

"Normally, we do. Quick enough for most purposes, owls are good at not being seen, and cheap. Most people have their own. That message will go right to the Chief's desk, quick as a Goblin can say money." Dylan replied.

"All right, then. Our respective bosses are all up to date, and they'll organize what needs doing. Do we have the grave locations?" Andre said.

Anne was still at the table, and she picked up the files and paged through them. "Yes, here we are, the reports of the burial teams."

She passed the sheets of paper to Andre, who read them quickly. "Here we go, small parish graveyards not too far away from Little Hangleton, twenty or thirty miles."

She frowned. "We need to get to Little Hangleton fast. I could order us up a helicopter, but that would attract attention."

Dylan raised a hand to get her attention. "I could get us there by magic, quickly and quietly."

"How would you do that?" Andre said.

"We call it Side-Along Apparation. I can take two of you along with me, each one holding firm to one of my arms. There's a safe spot I know, near Little Hangleton. It was the rally point for MMS during the operation. I'll remember that place to my dying day." Dylan's manner was that of a man making a suggestion without pushing it.

"Fine, we'll do it that way. I'll be one of the two." Andre said.

Jim chimed in, "You'll want me along, so I'll be the other."

Andre turned to Anne. "You mind the store here, Anne. Go over those photos again, look for any other discrepancies."

She nodded and sat down at the table. Andre thought she looked a little relieved. Andre didn't blame her, she was feeling uneasy about this herself.

"How do we do this, then?" Andre said to Dylan.

"Well, first you'll have to leave behind all your electronics. Magic and electricity don't mix, at all, at all. They'd be fried and you'd be burned, if not worse." He said.

Andre and Jim both took out their cell phones and put them on the table. Andre went through her purse and put a pen that was also a laser pointer on the desk beside her phone, checked again and nodded. "Jim?"

He finished checking his pockets, then looked back at her and said, "Good to go."

Dylan went out into the main office, and held out his elbows wide. Andre and Jim each took a good hold on one of his arms. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and his face took on a look of concentration. There was a brief whirling sensation, and Andre felt as if she was being forced through a tight rubber tube, enormous pressure being exerted all over her body. She knew they'd arrived when it stopped. She spent a few minutes trying hard not to throw up.

She took a few deep breaths, then asked, "Is this a popular form of transport?"

"Not particularly, unless you're in the Devil's own hurry. Most wizards go by Floo or broomstick, or Portkey if they have one." He replied.

"I can see that." Jim replied. He hadn't thrown up either, but Andre thought it been a near thing for him, too.

He stood straight, took a few more deep breaths, and some colour came back to his face. "We're here. Where's here?"

Andre took a look around. They were in a patch of dense bush, down in a small hollow. She doubted if they could be seen by someone even ten yards away.

Dylan pointed toward an oak tree. "We're a couple of miles from Little Hangleton. The nearest road is that way."

They scrambled up out of the hollow, Andre blessing the fact she wasn't a fashion plate. Sensible shoes were the ticket here.

They came out on the road a couple of hundred yards on, and Little Hangleton was within sight. They quick marched down the road, and by good luck the small garage that doubled as a hire car depot. They wound up with a small and rather battered van at an inflated price. Andre put it on her credit card and didn't argue the toss.

The car hire place was willing to sell them a local map, also at an inflated price. They headed off down the narrow winding road, Andre driving, Jim with the map in the passenger seat, and Dylan in the back looking uncertain. They arrived at the graveyard that contained Lestrange's grave about an hour later. The small stone parish church looked as if it had come down in the world, and the graveyard was overgrown and untended.

"I suppose we should have brought shovels." Andre said, mentally kicking herself for not having thought of that.

"I can do it with magic. Simple spell, it just lifts and moves things." Dylan said.

"All right." Andre and Jim stood well back, but the spell wasn't flashy at all. Dylan drew his wand and said, " _Wingardium Leviosa_."

A big clump of sod and earth floated up, over to one side as he moved his wand, then collapsed into a pile. It took about twenty minutes before they were down to the coffin. Dylan set himself and cast _Wingardium Leviosa_ one more time, and the coffin came floating up and out of the grave, gently settling down beside the grave.

Andre looked at Dylan with concern. He was white and sweating, like a man who'd been working very hard. "Are you all right?"

He sat down on a nearby stone bench, weathered and pitted with age. "Need a breather, that's all. Moving that much weight by magic is still hard work."

Jim grinned. "Not to worry, I've got this bit."

He took a big multi-tool from his belt, one that included an adjustable wrench, and set to work on the lag screws that held down the coffin lid. A half hour later the lag screws were all out. They all gathered around and Jim heaved off the coffin lid.

Dylan grinned tightly. "Well, well, the top o' the morning to you, Miss Bellatrix Lestrange."


	17. Chapter 17 We've Got Company!

**Chapter 17 We've Got Company!**

The body was reasonably well preserved. They could see the round entrance wound in the centre of her forehead where the sniper's bullet had gone in.

"Well, let's just get the Portkey." Jim said, opening up the knife blade on his multi-tool.

"No, no, I wouldn't do that." Dylan said at once, shaking his head emphatically.

Jim stopped in mid-motion, the tool in his hand, turned to Dylan with a puzzled look, and said, "Why not?"

He took a couple of deep breaths, and said, "That there is the body of a Death Eater, that is. Dead isn't necessarily 'armless, not with those gentry, not at all, at all. Go in after that Portkey, and we might trip something nasty. There's the spell on that tattoo, for a start, and I don't know what else there might be besides that."

Jim lowered his hand with the tool in it, and took a cautious step back from the coffin. "You sure about that?"

"Certain sure, no. You want to bet your life on it?" Dylan replied.

"No." he said, folding the tool and sheathing it.

"Good to have you along, Dylan." Andre said.

She gave the coffin a considering look, then said, "Give me a hand, here, Jim. We'll get the lid back on and buttoned up tight, and we'll just take coffin and all back with us."

They spent the next fifteen or twenty minutes getting the lid back on the coffin and screwing the lid back down tightly. By that time Dylan was recovered sufficiently to use the levitation spell to lift the coffin into the back of the van.

They locked the rear doors of the van. Jim used a piece of old rope to lash it to the side of the van.

"Think it would be worth the trouble to fill it back in?" He turned to point at the open grave.

Andre frowned, then shook her head. "It would take too long, and we couldn't make it look undisturbed, anyway."

She headed for the driver's side of the van, then turned back to Dylan. "I don't suppose there's a nice easy simple way to just magic us all back to London straight away?"

Dylan smiled ruefully and shook his head. "No. I couldn't move even the coffin, never mind the two of you and the van."

She gave a lopsided smile, and opened the driver's door. "Let's get on the road, then."

Dylan stood up from his seat on the bench, looked around and stretched, then stiffened and pulled out his wand.

He pointed it at his head and said, " _Supersensory Ocularis_ ".

His stance altered to alertness and he pointed his wand up into the sky. "Four of them, on broomsticks. They're none of ours. Andre, we've got company!"

Andre bailed into the worn seat of the van and started the engine. Jim jumped into the passenger seat and Dylan took the seat behind Jim, the one not folded down to make room for the coffin.

Andre slammed the van into gear and they careered out of the graveyard into the narrow tree-lined country lane. Dylan grunted as he was thrown against the van's door, then grabbed at a hand hold as it turned the other way.

"Dylan, how fast can a broom fly?" Andre shouted, over the roar of the engine and the creaks and groans of the van bouncing along the rough country lane.

"Depends on the broom, same as with cars. A cheap one, fifty miles an hour, maybe. The Chief rides a Firebolt, and it would do twice that, easy." Dylan shouted back.

"Either of you got a gun?" Dylan said.

"No. Left it at the bloody office." Andre said. _Wasn't that just fucking up by the numbers, too._

"Got me wand. That's my bit of it, then." Dylan said.

He chuckled. "Just so we're clear about it and all that, I'm going to be using lethal and destructive magic against these gentry."

"Give 'em one for us." Andre said, grunting as they hit a pothole.

The green tinted shadow of the copse of trees gave way to sunlight. They were in farm country, fields and pastures dotted with patches of trees. Farmhouses here and there whipped past as Andre drove down the narrow lane at a reckless pace, hoping they wouldn't meet some farmer on his tractor coming the other way.

She heard Dylan open the rear door of the van, the rusty screech of the hinges unmistakable. In the rear view mirror she could see a man on a broomstick low down on the road and gaining on them. He rode the broom like a motorcycle racer on his bike, leaning forward along it. His right arm extended said that he had his wand in his hand and he was ready to use it.

Rationally she knew that objects in the rear view mirrors were closer than they appeared, but she was still fighting the urge to shout at Dylan to do something. Suddenly an explosion of some sort hit just beside them, the jolt and the roar almost sending the van out of control as she wrenched savagely at to wheel. She was blinded until they emerged from the cloud of dust and dirt the explosion had thrown up. They were running through another copse of trees.

"Bloody missed." Jim said from beside her, his tone tight and controlled.

"More likely, they want the coffin intact." Andre replied, just at tightly. They skidded through a turn, and Andre looked ahead to see if there was a main road where they could make more speed. Even recklessly fast on this rutted dirt country road was perhaps thirty or forty miles an hour.

"Yeah. Christ almighty, I'm never going out to the field again on this bloody job without a gun. Hell, two of 'em like some bloody Wild West outlaw." Jim shouted over the engine noise and the sound of the van jolting and bouncing over the road.

Andre wasn't disposed to disagree, but wishing wasn't going to make it so. She concentrated on her driving as they emerged into the sunlight again, and glanced into the rear view mirror to see the black clad wizard on his broom open his mouth, presumably to cast a spell. He was close enough, now, that she could see details like that. The whites of his eyes would be next, no doubt. *Damn it, Dylan what the Hell are you waiting for?*

Then she heard Dylan's shout from behind her, loud even over the noise of the van. _Diffindo!_

The wizard in the rear view mirror had just time for a look of shock and horror as the spell sheared off one of his legs. A second later he vanished in a huge plume of flame. It was incredibly hot. She could feel the slap of the heat on her arm through the open window of the van.

"What the Hell?" Andre shouted.

"That was Fiendfyre, that was. That's what happens to these gentry if they look like gettin' captured, or just wounded too bad to carry on. Wouldn't do for one of them to be captured, now would it? He might talk, and Voldemort wouldn't want that."

He looked up, scanning the sky through the trees. "Sorry about that, Andre, but I had to wait until he was close enough for a good clear cast."

Andre glanced into the rear view mirror. The coffin was still secure and Dylan was standing in the rear of the van. The rear door had gone altogether, probably in the explosion.

"That should teach 'em caution." Jim shouted.

Andre had hit the brakes by reflex when the flare of flame had erupted behind them, and she saw a barn on the left. It was built mostly of stone, and it looked old and overgrown, with the roof partly fallen in. _Abandoned. No innocent bystanders._

Andre made a snap decision, wrenched at the wheel, slammed on the brakes and turned into the half overgrown path to the barn. They lurched and bounced over it. The door to the barn was ajar, and she slammed on the brakes and came to a skidding halt.

"Jim, get the door!" She shouted.

Jim unsnapped his seat belt, bailed out of the van and ran to the door, putting his shoulder to it and pushing it open, painfully slowly, or so it seemed to Andre in her hyperaware state of running for her life. She drove in as soon it was open wide enough, then cut the engine. Belatedly she looked back at Dylan, to see him still in the back, getting up from where he'd been thrown back on the coffin.

Dylan stepped out of where the rear van door had been, looking a little unsteady on his feet, for which Andre blamed him not at all. "Not bad. It'll buy us some time, but they're not going to give up searching. You could say they're well motivated."

Andre took a couple of deep breaths, looking around the inside of the barn. It was mostly empty, except for the dusty chunks of wood and slate where the roof had fallen in. A beam of sunlight slanted through the hole in the roof, and she could hear the ringing in her ears to attest to how close the explosion had been.

"Got that bit. We can figure out where we are, make a plan, send for help, maybe. I'd sell a working interest in my soul for a mobile right now. Maybe we can find a phone in some farmhouse." She said.

A thought struck her. "Dylan, did you get a report off to your boss?"

He looked thunderstruck. "That I didn't, and that I'll do right bloody now."

He pulled out the tablet and the quill, and started writing furiously. He paused, looked up, and said, "Where the Hell did we get to, anyway?"

Jim pulled the map out of the glove box, and started looking. He started at the graveyard, then took on a look of concentration as he traced along the lane they'd been driving along. "Here we go. Old Hadfield Farm. It's about ten miles northwest of Angleton Parish Cemetery."

Dylan nodded sharply to acknowledge that, then wrote some more. He finished writing, tapped the tablet with his wand, and watched it fold itself into a paper airplane and vanish through the hole in the roof.

"All right, that's better. We'll have help coming, but it's going to take a while. It'll take some time to get to London, the Chief will have to get on to MMS and have them deploy the Ready Duty unit, and they'll have to get here." Dylan was looking up at the hole in the roof. He had the look of a man who was mentally urging on the message to go faster. Andre could sympathize, because she was thinking the same thing.

With the message away and a little time to think, Andre looked around and didn't much like what she saw. The roof aside, the barn was built of stone, who knew how many centuries old. It had exactly one entrance. Their hiding place could turn into a death trap very easily.

"All right, I don't think we can stay here. If we get bottled up in here, I don't much fancy our chances." Andre said.

Silence gave assent to that. All three of their heads bent over the map. Dylan put his finger on the map, where there was a narrow line running through the trees. "What's that?"

"Walking path. Runs through the woods, not far from here, then along the edge of the fields. Then, right along the edge of the dual carriageway, here." Jim said, tracing along the line on the map with his finger.

Andre smiled tightly. "If we can get up on there, then I put my foot down to the floor and drive like the hammers of Hell for London."

Jim looked dubious. "Pretty thick forest hereabouts. It's a foot path when it's all said. Can we get the van along it?"

"We'd have to pick our way, but I'd say it's our best chance." Andre said.

Dylan smiled. "There's magic for that. Spell called _Diffindo_. It will cut through pretty well everything."

Andre looked over at him, remembering how that spell had cut one enemy into two strangers. "Good to have you along, Dylan."

"Go now, or wait for nightfall?" Jim said.

Andre looked at her watch, then shook her head. "15:03. Hours till nightfall. Too long."

"I'll get an update out to the Chief, with a map of which route we're taking." Dylan said, pulling out his tablet.

At her puzzled look, he said, "Not much use having the cavalry come over the hill if it's not the right hill, now is it?"

She smiled ruefully. "Good one, Dylan."

As soon as the message was away, they made sure everything was loaded up and the coffin secure. After a careful look around, Andre drove the van out through the doors and they began picking their way through the woods to the foot path. Dylan had to cut away some brush, but the going wasn't too bad, all things considered. The ground was firm and dry, at least. When they made it to the foot path, they were able to make better time.

They still stopped frequently to scan the sky. The path opened up again when it turned out to where it ran along the edge of the field.

"Barley, by the look of it. Not ready for the harvest, so we shouldn't be seeing the farmer." Jim kept his eyes up, scanning the sky. Dylan was doing the same, using Supersensory.

They continued to pick their way along the path, at one point passing a family group seated at a picnic table off the trail.

"Maybe we could stop, borrow a mobile and make a call." Jim said.

Andre shook her head. "We'd lose time, and maybe get them killed into the bargain."

"There's that." Jim said, and went back to scanning the sky.

They came out from under the overhanging bush into a clearing, and almost at once Jim and Dylan shouted, "We've got company!"

Andre put her foot down as much as she dared, which was a lot less than what she wanted to do. She could see the carriageway in the distance, with its promise of escape and safety.

Andre suppressed the desire to look back and see what the other two were doing. All the attention she could give to driving the rickety old van along this narrow foot path was none too much.

Dylan's voice came from the rear, hard and angry. She could tell he wasn't much for running away at the best of times, and it sounded as if he'd about had his belly full of it. "Come on you bastards, if you want it come and get it."

Out of the corner of her eye, Andre saw and felt Jim unbuckle his seat belt and climb between the seats into the back. "Hold 'em off, Dylan. Buy us some time. I got an idea."

Andre concentrated on her driving and didn't waste any time or attention she couldn't spare on questions.

She fought the wheel and barely managed to maintain control as the roar of an explosion assaulted her ears, throwing dirt and dust up into a cloud. As they emerged from the cloud and she could see again, she wrenched at the wheel, barely missing a big tree. They came so close that the tree trunk knocked off the driver's side rear view mirror.

Andre glanced up ahead from her total concentration on the road directly in front of her, seeing that they were a lot closer to the carriageway. There was still the problem of getting up on to it, though. From behind her, she heard Dylan shout " _Bombarda_!" and heard a distant explosion a few seconds later.

Creaks and cracks and thumps said Jim was doing something in the back, though she had no groggiest idea what and and not time to spare to find out.

Another explosion hit ahead of them, on the tree line side of the path. She swerved out into the field of grain to get around it, then back on to the path. Looking up ahead, she saw a grass covered ramp leading up to the carriageway itself, probably for road equipment or some such.

"Andre, can we get up on the carriageway?" Jim shouted from behind her.

Dylan shouted, " _Diffindo_!"

"We're almost there!" Andre shouted, slowing a little to get ready to make the turn up onto the ramp and onto the carriageway.

"Right, then!" Jim shouted back. She heard scraping and grinding sounds, then a loud thump that sounded like something heavy hitting the ground behind them.

Andre concentrated on keeping the van from tipping over as the tyres dug divots out of the turf. She'd never felt anything as good as the sensation of the van's tyres hitting the tarmac of the carriageway. A skidding turn got them straightened out and on their way.

"What the Hell was that thump?" She shouted, having the comparative leisure to actually ask a question.

"I dumped out the coffin. They stopped for it." Jim shouted back.

"Bloody fucking hell, what were you thinking?" Andre shouted furiously, already considering doing a U-turn to go back to get it.

"I was thinking we didn't need the coffin, we just needed the body. We've got that, all safe and sound." He said.

"They stopped for the coffin, right enough." Dylan added from the back.

Andre slammed the van into top gear and put her foot all the way down on the gas pedal, watching the speedometer head toward a hundred miles an hour. She threw her head back and laughed exultantly. "Bloody well done! London, here we come."

"That hire car company is going to hate us something fierce, you know." Jim's voice held the same exultation that she felt.

She laughed again. "I got the extra insurance. They can bill the Crown for the rest."


	18. Chapter 18 Questioning An Alchemist

**Chapter 18 Questioning an Alchemist**

"Good afternoon, Mr. Flamel. We need to talk." Harry looked down at Flamel's pale astonished face for a long moment.

"How ... how can you be here?" Flamel said.

"Mr. Flamel, your right to protect your secrets stops when you hinder an investigation into a threat to the Realm. You have my word as the Chief of MK-1 that what we learn from you will be safeguarded and revealed only to trustworthy persons who have the need to know, and I will question you only about matters relevant to that investigation. Those answers I will have." Harry said.

Hermione and Evan immediately cast Portkey and Apparation wards. Defeating Flamel's own protections had been a difficult business. They had been cast strongly, but the state of the art in magic had advanced considerably in five centuries, and they had the power of the Magic of the Realm behind them. Knowing precisely where Flamel was had been the vital precursor to that effort.

"You were correct, Mr. Flamel. I am not your enemy. I am not your friend, either. I need to know what you know, and it is my duty to find it out." Harry's voice was stern and unyielding.

"I have kept my secrets these many centuries, Mr. Potter. I shall continue to do so. I am an Occlumens, so you cannot make me answer your questions, and I refuse to do so." The calm of Flamel's white face was underlaid with a look of defiance.

"You have no right!" Perenelle burst out.

She stood up, her manner and expression defiant. "You are children, callow even by the standards of the short-lived. We have harmed no one. We live our lives in peace and harm no one. You understand nothing."

"Really. This much I do understand. If the Elixir of Life was on the shelves of St. Mungo's, how many people would have had their lives saved? Instead you sat here, hoarding it to yourselves in your comfortable little tower." Evan said, as he would to the feeble excuse of an erring recruit.

Perenelle flushed slightly, then her control returned. "It is not like that."

"You will tell us what it is like, Mrs. Flamel. The choice you have here is to do it willingly, or against your will." Hermione said.

"No." Nicholas Flamel said, abruptly, and his face took on an expression of concentration. That was followed by a look of astonishment when nothing happened.

"Fool me twice, Mr. Flamel, shame on me." Harry said, then raised his wand.

"Nicholas Flamel, as a subject of Her Majesty I command you to answer truthfully and completely the questions I shall put to you on Her Majesty's Service. So mote it be." Harry said.

"We are not subjects of your Queen!" Perenelle said, her hand moving toward the side table beside her chair.

Hermione's wand snapped to bear on her. " _Expelliarmus_!"

A small object spun out of Perenelle Flamel's sleeve and spun out to fall on the floor with a clatter. It was a small flat piece of jade, with runes carved in it.

Her voice was deadly. "Keep your hands in sight, Mrs. Flamel, and do not try anything like that again."

Perenelle Flamel raised her hands to shoulder height, and said, "We were born in France."

Hermione glanced briefly over at the expression on Nicholas Flamel's face, keeping her wand leveled, then back to Perenelle. "You are in error, Mrs. Flamel. This tower is in Devon. You have dwelt here a long time, and you have accepted it as your home. When you did that, you became a subject of Her Majesty. You have lived long under her protection, and when you accepted that protection you became subject to her laws."

Nicholas Flamel's face bore a set strained expression, like a man struggling under a great weight. Privately, Harry was amazed that he could put up even so much resistance. _Flamel must have been a powerful wizard in his day._

Gradually, the set strained expression on Flamel's face gave way to the emotionless expression of a man who had no choice left but to tell the truth.

"Nicholas Flamel, are you now in possession of a Philosopher's Stone?" Harry asked. _Let us be very cautious here. Flamel may be bound to tell the truth, but the word completely is subject to interpretation._

"No, I am not." Flamel's voice said that he was facing his worst nightmare.

Harry knew that feeling. He had had it himself. _To be forced to tell his secrets after all these centuries of hoarding them, yes, I can believe that he would fear that._

"Are you now making, or do you intend to make, another Philosopher's Stone?" Harry said. He could feel the faint vibration of the small Dictaquill on his arm writing down everything that was said in this chamber.

"I do not make the Philosopher's Stones. It is not within my power to make them." Flamel still spoke as if the words were being dragged out of him one by one.

 _What? Everyone says that he makes them._ Harry looked again at Flamel's face. _Everyone, it would seem, is wrong. I will wager galleons to knuts that he has carefully helped everyone to reach that wrong conclusion._

"How do you come by them, then?" Harry said.

"They occur naturally. There is, as far as my knowledge goes, only one place in all the world where they are found." Flamel said.

"Where are they found?" Harry said.

"I do not know ... its physical location." Flamel said, trying and failing to stop himself speaking.

"How do you get there, then?" Harry said, keeping his wand on Flamel and feeling the crackle of powerful magic running down it to Flamel's mind.

"I have a Portkey that will take me there." Flamel said.

"If you do not create them, how are they created?" Harry said.

Harry saw him strain again against the spell, and lose. "It is an underground cavern that is a nexus of deep magic. The stones are gemstones of a particular type, that have the ability to absorb that power, store it. It is a slow process. It takes decades."

"Are there other Stones in that cavern?" Harry said.

"There is one that is almost ready to harvest. I have left it as long as possible. The longer the Stone stays in the cavern, the more powerful it is." Flamel said, still struggling against the spell.

"How do you use the Stone to create the Elixir of Life?" Harry said.

"I do not." Flamel said.

"How do you do it, then?" Harry said. *Well, the next misdirection will arrive at Platform Nine and Three Quarters in five minutes.*

"The Elixir is an ordinary healing potion that has been put to age in the cavern, absorbing the power of it, becoming more powerful over the decades." Flamel replied.

"Can a Stone be used to produce the Elixir?" Harry said, watching Flamel's face.

"Yes, but it is not the best way. It takes much power to produce the Elixir, and it drains the Stone quickly." Flamel said.

"Why do you not share the Elixir?" Evan said, his voice coldly accusatory.

"The process takes decades, and it produces only a very little. There is enough for my wife and myself and a very little over. I have shared it with a few friends over the centuries, but none of them now live except Dumbledore. Some, like Albus, chose the power of wizardry over life, while others fell prey to mischance or treachery."

"How much did Voldemort know of all this?" Harry said.

"I do not know. He greatly desired immortality, but I do not think he was aware of the price that it exacted. Certainly he was seeking that knowledge, but whether he attained it I was never able to tell." Flamel said.

"Where do you keep the Portkey?" Harry said.

"I keep it in a hiding place. Not here. There are safeguards. I do not think it is possible for anyone else to get to it." Flamel said.

"Where is that hiding place?" Harry said. *He should have told me that, straight off, without being asked.*

"It is at another of my secret retreats."

Flamel clenched his teeth, then went on as he lost again his struggle against the compulsion of the spell. "It is an old Roman villa in Cornwall, hidden from all as this tower is. I come and go from it by Portkey."

Harry kept on questioning Flamel relentlessly. Flamel had kept himself, his hideaways and the powerful magic that he controlled secret for centuries by imposing many safeguards on his possessions. They had to know every one of those safeguards if they were to find the information they needed.

Finally Harry released the spell, and Flamel collapsed back down into his chair, looking as wrung out as if he had just done a triathlon. Perenelle brought him a drink, then fussed over him before looking up at Harry with cold hatred. "Look what you have done to my husband, the torture you have put him to. How are you any better than Voldemort?"

"Telling the truth isn't torture, ma'am. If Voldemort ever gets his hands on either one of you, trust me, you'll know what torture is." Evan said, watching her closely.

"You wish to steal the Stone, take immortality for your own!" She flung the accusation at him.

Evan looked down at her and did not answer. He shook his head and looked over at Harry. "What now, Chief?"

Harry looked down at Flamel. "Now, we are going to check on the security of the Stone and the Elixir you are aging, Mr. Flamel. You can come along with us if you wish, to verify for yourself that we are here to investigate, not to steal." Harry replied.

"What will you do with my wife?" Flamel demanded, holding her hand protectively.

Harry frowned. "Hermione, you stay here and keep an eye on Mrs. Flamel. Evan and I will accompany Mr. Flamel to check the security on the Stone and the Elixir."

"You will hold her as a hostage!" Flamel said. He rose to put himself between Harry and his wife.

"No such thing, Mrs. Flamel." Hermione replied.

"In no case will I do her any harm except in self defence. Of course, if my friends do not return safely, then a court would have to decide whether she is guilty of accessory to murder. If they do return safely, then the both of you will be left in peace with your possessions." Hermione said, still with her attention on Perenelle Flamel.

Flamel's shoulders slumped and he looked defeated. "I still say she is a hostage, but I have no choice. I will take you there."

Flamel led the way to an alcove in the corner of the worn stone wall. There was a small statuette there, of a creature that Harry could not identify. It was an ethereal-looking winged creature, posed in flight.

Flamel looked at it sadly. "An Air Sprite. They were always few, and now there are none. Delicate creatures."

He rallied a little, some of his old defiance returning. "You realize that you could not use these Portkeys without me. They are keyed to my voice."

Evan just chuckled. "There's magic for that. There's a spell to throw your voice. With skill and a sample of someone's voice, it can be that person's voice. Think about that before you try anything clever."

Flamel's shoulders slumped again. All three of them hooked their fingers into small, well worn loops of stone on the base of the statue. Flamel said, "Primus Pilus Marius", and the whirling dragging sensation of Portkey transit took them.

They arrived in another stone chamber, this one looking archaic, with a floor of coloured stones set into a mosaic showing a Roman soldier in armour, standing before a legion drawn up in ranks. The furniture was comfortable, well worn wood smooth with use. It was lit by magic lights in the corner, that had activated when they arrived.

Flamel looked around the room, then nodded and relaxed a little. "No one has been here."

His lips tightened, and he burst out, "Revealing my secrets to children! You have no idea of what you are tampering with."

Evan sniffed with contempt. "Really? All these long centuries you've lived, and what have you done with that life besides prolong it? How many friends have you had over the centuries? How often have you ventured out of these comfortable little hidey-holes of yours? Have you children, family besides your wife?"

Flamel looked taken aback, his long pale face for once showing emotion. "I harm no one."

"You help no one, either. Where were you when the Chief was fighting Voldemort to keep the Stone - your Stone - out of his hands? Do you know he passed a test that day? Before he could lay hand upon the Stone, he had to prove his intent was to take the Stone but not to use it, and he passed that test." Evan snapped.

"You are not him." Flamel rallied a little, evidently trying to change the subject.

Evan gave a short harsh laugh. "If you think I obsess about my mortality, you know nothing of me. I enlisted in the Army of my own free will. The life expectancy of an infantry officer who leads from in front on the modern battlefield is not long, Mr. Flamel. Not long at all. Deputy Chief of MK-1 is not a safe sinecure, either, not by a long way."

He laughed again, contemptuously. "You call me a child? I have seen the face of war, and I have been places and done things you cannot even imagine. While I live, I live, not crouch in a hole like a mouse."

Harry watched Flamel wilt under Evan's harsh, accurate summation. *They call that having a strip torn off you in the Army, Nicholas Flamel.*

"Where do we go next?" Harry said quietly.

He watched as a flicker of uncertainty crossed Flamel's face, then drew his wand. "You can tell me the truth willingly, or unwillingly."

Flamel sighed, then nodded acceptance. He knelt, then tapped on different stones in the mosaic in a rhythmic pattern. The circular centre of the mosaic floated up and moved to one side, letting down gently on the floor.

Rings around the circular vertical tunnel that it revealed made steps down to a round stone platform with a waist high stone column in the middle, with handholds worn from use. At the top of it was a turnstile with bars protruding, like a ship's capstan.

"That is the elevator that will take us down into the Cavern of the Stone, Mr. Potter. It is purely a mechanical device, using no magic at all." Flamel said.

"Why is that?" Harry said, watching Flamel carefully.

"The Cavern of the Stone is a reservoir of magic, an immensely powerful one. No wizard, however powerful, can use magic within it. It would be like trying to use a squirt gun at the bottom of the ocean. You must crank your way up and down." Flamel said.

Evan raised an eyebrow. "You don't look all that muscular to me."

"I am not. The elevator is counterweighted, so it takes very little effort for the elevator to be cranked up or down. The weight needs to be adjusted for the weight of the people on it." Flamel said.

They stepped on to the platform, Flamel first. He pointed to a large tank by the side of the shaft. "Oil. We let in enough of that for our weight and the weight of the platform to balance the counterweight."

"All right." Harry said. Flamel connected up a hose from the tank to a socket in the platform and turned a brass valve, worn with use. Harry heard a gurgling sound. Flamel turned off the valve several times, then looked satisfied and disconnected it again.

He lit an oil lamp and hung it on a hook on the central column, then started pushing the capstan around and around. They slid slowly and smoothly down into the tunnel, its black stone walls absorbing the lantern light, leaving them in a small pool of light amid utter darkness.

As they descended, Evan held up his wand and said, _Lumos_. Nothing happened.

Flamel paused in turning the capstan. "I did not lie to you."

"Those who do not lie may still be mistaken or prevaricating, Mr. Flamel. I verify what I am told." Evan sheathed his wand again and pointed Flamel back to the capstan.

Flamel grimaced and went back to work at the capstan. It seemed a long while later that they reached the bottom. An oval opening at the bottom of the shaft led out into a large open area, still shrouded in darkness. Flamel took the oil lamp and led the way through the opening.

As Flamel held the oil lamp up high and its mellow light spread wider, Harry could see more of the Cavern of the Stone. The floor was smooth black rock. It felt large, as their footsteps echoed through the utter silence.

Harry now believed what Flamel had told them, about the Cavern being a deep and powerful reservoir of magic. He could feel it, a sensation like the one when he had first taken up his wand, multiplied a thousand fold and pressing on him like the weight of the ocean on a deep sea diver.

Harry looked around, but he could hear and see nothing. "Well?"

"This way." Flamel said, and walked slowly out into the cavern with the lamp held up above his head. Harry and Evan followed him, remaining alert.

Out of the darkness appeared two stone columns rising up from the floor, about chest high on Harry. As they approached, Harry could see an expression of stark dismay spread over Flamel's face. He broke into a run, almost falling as he came to a halt at the nearest column. Harry could see there was nothing on the smooth top of the column, and the other column was vacant of anything as well.

Flamel stared at the columns in disbelief, his normal lack of expression dissolving into an expression of shock and horror and his pale face even paler if that were possible.

"Gone!" He gasped.

"The Stone, and the Elixir! They're gone!"


	19. Chapter 19 Duplicate Key

**Chapter 19 Duplicate Key**

Andre had her foot hard down on the gas pedal of the battered rickety van. It was creaking and rattling as it rolled down the carriageway at an indicated 105 miles an hour. Luckily, traffic was sparse. She glanced into the rear view mirrors and saw the missing rear door and Dylan standing where it had been, wand in hand. A jolt of alarm went through her as she saw a man on a broom drop down into sight close behind the van.

It took her a few seconds to realize the man on the broom was wearing British Army combat uniform. He was a big man, built like a brick wall. His automatic rifle rode in a sheath on one side of the broom. Dylan waved to him, and his granite face with its sweeping mustache broke into a smile.

"Dylan, me boy. Taking up body snatching?" He said, his parade ground voice carrying over the rush of the wind around the van.

"Crusher. What took you so long?" Dylan's banter was underlaid with relief.

"Stopped off for a pint. Not to worry, we're here now. You'll have cover all the way to London. How many hostiles?"

"Four that I saw. One of 'em chanced his 'arm a bit too much and made an ash of himself." Dylan said.

"Same lot, different day. Got it. See you in London." Crusher waved, then he and his broom vanished back up into the sky.

Andre let her foot up and eased off to the 70 mph speed limit on the carriageway, thanking her lucky stars that they hadn't encountered a local copper wanting to write them a speeding ticket.

She wasn't sure her MI-5 warrant card would have been enough to explain away a van that looked as if it had been through an artillery barrage, with an exhumed dead body in the back. She was sure she didn't want to try. Of course, even under the speed limit they might draw attention they didn't need.

"Dylan, anything we can do to avoid being noticed?" she shouted.

"Not to worry. Crusher and the lads will take care of that. Anyone who looks like paying too much attention to us will just forget all about ever seeing us." Dylan stepped back cautiously from the missing door and sat on the wheel well, looking tired and relieved.

Andre tabled her questions about what sort of magic might wipe out people's memories and concentrated on her driving.

An hour of blessedly uneventful driving brought them to the outskirts of London. Crusher swept down on his broom and shouted, "Pull over into the next lay-by."

She gave him a thumbs-up and looked ahead, seeing the sign and getting over a lane for the turn off. The lay-by was a small one, with trees around it. Andre pulled in and parked under the trees out of sight. There was a picnic table over on the other side of the parking lot. She shut off the engine, stepped out and stretched to relieve the tension and painful stiffness from the hours of furious driving with deadly enemies in hot pursuit.

She, Jim and Dylan sat together at the picnic table in the shade of the trees, and she could see the relief on their faces, matching her own.

Jim smiled wryly. "My Mum was that pleased when I left the Army for a nice safe government desk job. I didn't know when I was well off, and that's a fact."

"That's the common bloody complaint and no mistake. MK-1 was supposed to be an easy berth for a stove-up ex-soldier." Dylan said.

"Well, now we're pretty much over the shakes, what next?" Andre said, keeping on track as much as she could.

"Hurry up and wait. Crusher will have called this in, and I'll expect we'll be met. All being well, we hand off the body of that terrorist bitch, and we all go off and have a jar. I'll buy the first round." Dylan replied.

The lay-by didn't have much in the way of amenities, but there was a loo and a water fountain, so they could at least have a wash and a drink. Their rest didn't last long. A broomstick appeared just over the lay-by and came in for a landing.

The man on it was dressed a bit oddly, but there was nothing to put your finger on about it, just an impression. The dark suit was of an old-fashioned cut, like a clerk from a Dickens novel. He was middle-aged and balding.

He dismounted from the broom, leaving it in the hover, and looked around at the three of them. "Good day to you. I am Adrian Carbuncle, of the Department of Mysteries."

"Dylan Arnold, MK-1." Dylan replied, looking watchfully at the new arrival.

He waved to Andre and Jim. "Ms. Andre Norton, and Mr. James Coulter, MI-5. They are under the Exemption to the Statute of Secrecy, on the authority of the Chief of MK-1, just to be clear about that."

Carbuncle raised a hand in acceptance. "Perfectly clear, Mr. Arnold. I am given to understand you have the body of one of the Death Eaters with you?"

"That we do. In the van over there." Dylan pointed at the van.

"What's the plan, here?" Andre said.

"Well, Miss Norton, we will eventually wish to get the body to the Department's laboratories so it can be gone over in detail, but right now it is my job to ensure that we can do so safely. That is rather my specialty." Carbuncle cocked an eyebrow.

Andre took a second look at him. There seemed to be a little more to Carbuncle than his clerkly demeanor suggested. The Army had specialists in ordnance disposal, military and non-military. _Magical equivalent of an Ammo Tech?_

Andre pointed over at the battered van with the rear door missing. "The body is in the back of the van. We exhumed it from a grave where it was buried."

"Ah. A few questions, if I might. Was the body moved by Apparation or Portkey since death?" Carbuncle used his wand to write on the air, in glowing red script.

"No. It was transported by vehicle to where it was buried, and we brought it here in the van." Andre replied.

"I see. Was any magic used in exhuming it?" Carbuncle made a note on the air.

" _Windgardium Leviosa_ only. I used it to remove the earth and lift the coffin out of the grave and into the van." Dylan replied.

Carbuncle made another note on his list. "Did you cast the spell on the body itself, or just the coffin?"

"The coffin. We opened up the coffin to verify the presence of the body, but that was done with hand tools, not magic. We didn't tamper with the body at all. I thought that a risk we didn't have to take." Dylan replied.

"A very wise thought, sir. Is the body still in the coffin?" Carbuncle added to his list.

"No. It was removed from the coffin, and we dumped the coffin out by the roadside while the van was moving." Dylan said.

Carbuncle raised an eyebrow. "Was that necessary?"

"Yes, it was." Andre replied, sharply.

"Very well, I will defer to you on that. I will suggest that retrieving it would be a good idea, though. Was any magic used in the process of removing the body from the coffin?" Carbuncle said.

"No. I just dumped the body out and wrapped it in a blanket." Jim replied, rubbing his hands together like a man trying to remove something slimy.

"Thank you, I think that's everything I need to know for now. If I could prevail upon you to remain, to answer any further questions, that would be helpful." Carbuncle said, turned and walked toward the van.

Andre looked over at the concrete picnic table, in the shade of the trees. It had the additional merit of being well away from the van. "I think we should do our waiting over there."

They walked over to the picnic table again and took seats where they could watch what was going on. A thought struck Andre. "Do we have to worry about nosy passers-by?"

"No. Crusher and the lads have got the perimeter. No one will see or hear anything, or remember it if they do." Dylan replied, watching Carbuncle start his work.

"I have to say that bothers me a little. You can just wipe someone's memory?" Andre said.

"Yes. There's a spell for that. It's one of the primary tools used to maintain the Statute of Secrecy. A non-Magical who sees or hears something they shouldn't just forgets about it and goes on their way, none the worse for it." Dylan replied.

She cocked an eyebrow skeptically. Service in MI-5 was a very thorough education in the dark side of human nature. "You're telling me it never gets used for criminal purposes?"

"No, I'm not telling you that at all, Andre. The non-Magical world has drugs like rohypnol and scopolamine that produce a similar effect, and criminals use them. It's a known problem, isn't it?" Dylan replied.

"Yes, it is. We have laws against that, and we enforce them." Andre said.

"The Magical world does, too. It's an imperfect world, and innocents get hurt. Right now, there's the three of us working together, trying to make it a bit less imperfect and protect the innocent a bit better." Dylan replied.

"Fair point." Andre acknowledged. She watched as the body of Bellatrix Lestrange floated slowly out of the rear of the van and down onto the concrete of the lay-by parking lot. Carbuncle set up a small folding table and laid out various items Andre couldn't make head or tail of.

Andre could see that Carbuncle was being very careful and methodical, which for someone in his line of business was a good idea if you wanted to grow old, or just go home all in one piece. She watched as sheets of writing in various colours appeared around him, with long lists of symbols appearing on them and rolling up as they did.

"Can you make out any of that, Dylan?" She asked.

He shook his head. "If I was close enough to read all of it I wouldn't understand a tenth of it. He's finding things, though. I'm thinking it was a bloody good thing we didn't tamper with the body."

Whatever Carbuncle was doing seemed to involve a lot of wand work. He stepped back a few paces, then swept his wand through an involved pattern that ended with a swift slicing motion.

All of them jumped to their feet in alarm as a loud WHUMP thundered across the parking lot. Andre felt a slap of heat on her face as a gout of flame swirled up into the sky. Poised to run, Andre watched as the column of fire slowly ebbed away into extinction.

"Bloody Hell, what was that?" Jim said, looking up at the fireball.

Dylan's face relaxed from grim to relieved as the tower of flame died away. "Fiendfyre. It's all right, though. He got it contained. He's good, all right."

"We were lugging that about with us?'' Jim said, turning toward Dylan with an accusatory look.

"News to me, too, me bucko. Twould ha' been bloody nice if someone had bothered to tell me about it. If I'd known, you'd have. I'll have a word for someone on that score." Dylan met Jim's look squarely.

"We're all mushrooms together. Bloody marvelous." Andre watched as Carbuncle began winding up all of what he had been doing. After a few minutes he turned toward them, waved and shouted, "All safe!"

Andre looked across the parking lot for a moment, then led off across the Iot. _I really, really hope this bloke knows what he's about._

As they approached, Andre's eyes fell on the body. It was mostly intact, still in the silk dress Lestrange had been buried in. The right arm from the elbow down was gone. The dead features still retained the sneer of mad arrogance which had been her habitual expression in life.

Carbuncle looked like a man who had just come out of a fight for his life. Recalling the gout of flame that had erupted, Andre was willing to concede he had earned the right to wear that look.

"What have we here, Mr. Carbuncle?" Dylan asked.

"A spot of bother and no mistake about that, gentlefolk. I've never seen anything like it. When we get it back to the Department we'll do the complete exam, but I can give you the headlines if you want."

"Yes, I think we do want." Andre said.

Carbuncle nodded toward Lestrange's body. "The body itself, nothing except the sort of damage you get from someone who uses dark magic without caring about the consequences. The Dark Mark, there it started to get problematic."

He pointed down toward where the corpse's right arm had been. "First layer, the Dark Mark itself has a Cruciatus Curse embedded in it. It can be activated remotely, which was how it was used as a summons. It would also be activated by any attempt to remove the tattoo, either physically or magically."

"Cruciatus Curse. What's that?" Andre asked.

Carbuncle glanced over at Dylan and caught a curt nod before answering. "Cruciatus Curse activates the pain nerves in the human body. The sensation is like boiling oil or molten metal, but since the nerves aren't destroyed it goes on and on."

Andre winced. "Nasty."

Dylan looked at her expression and said, "Also very illegal, as in life in Azkaban for using it on anyone for any reason."

"That wasn't too much of a problem, because the dead don't feel pain. I did have to take care the curse didn't backlash onto me when I removed it. It was set up to do that." Carbuncle could have been saying he liked scones with his tea.

"The object under the skin of the tattoo was a small gem, enchanted to be a Portkey. Any attempt to physically excise it would trigger the burst of Fiendfyre you saw. Trying to Portkey the body would also trigger that curse. I had to work around that." Carbuncle was still using that same even tone.

 _Christ almighty, a bomb like that was buried in a parish graveyard?_ "What would have happened when the body decayed?"

"Eventually, the trap would have been triggered. The Portkey and anything near it would be destroyed." Carbuncle could have been giving a weather forecast.

"How did you work around it?" Dylan asked.

"I set up wards to contain the Fiendfyre, as you saw, then I triggered the Portkey. No harm done." Carbuncle said.

"What about the Portkey?" Andre asked.

"It was destroyed when I triggered it." Carbuncle replied.

"God damn it!" Andre exploded. "Have you any bloody idea what we went through to get that bloody thing? It was our only link to a nest of terrorists."

"Miss Norton, I can fairly claim to have gone through somewhat myself. But, as it happens, I do have something for you." He reached over to the small table of equipment and picked up a container like a small hatbox.

He handed it to Andre. "This is a copy of the Portkey, made when I triggered it and just before it was destroyed. This one is just a Portkey, without all the assorted nastiness of the original. The activation word is on a piece of parchment inside the container. I can't tell you where it will take you. That problem has never been solved."

Andre breathed a deep sigh of relief as she took the container. She saw the same look on the faces of Jim and Dylan.

"Thank you, Mr. Carbuncle. Very well done. Apologies for losing my temper," she said.

The controlled expression on his face relaxed into a smile. "It's been a bit of a day for all of us, Miss Norton. For my part, I'm going to have a large whisky and go home to my family."

"Well, I've got the first shout." Dylan said.

Packing up the scene took a little time, but less than Andre had expected. A working party from the Department of Mysteries took away Lestrange's body, the van was simply pushed off under the trees to be found by the local police whenever that might be. Andre borrowed a mobile to call in a report of its being stolen. She put the Portkey away in her purse and decided she deserved a drink before going back to the office to lock it up in the safe.

They wound up in an nearby non-Magical pub, and took a table in the corner away from everyone else. Andre ordered a big glass of white wine, Carbuncle had a double whisky neat, and Jim and Dylan both had dark ale. A flick of Dylan's wand ensured they could speak freely.

Andre held up her glass. "Here's to us. There's damned few like us, and they're all dead."

They all clinked their glasses and drank deep.

"How did all this bloody cock-up happen in the first place?" Jim asked.

Carbuncle sipped from his whisky. "I wasn't in at the original operation against the Death Eaters, and frankly I think that was an oversight."

"You think?" Dylan put down his glass, then spread his hands. "Well, if I was disposed to be charitable after the day we've had, the whole op was thrown together in a tearing bloody hurry. Things fall through the cracks when you do that."

"Lots of things fell through the cracks, right enough. What we didn't know bloody nearly got us killed about three times over." Jim said, putting down his own glass.

Andre looked around the bar, taking in the ambience of the local pub, with working people having a pint after their day and young people flirting with each other. _We got it done today, and they can have their pint in safety. That's the job._

"We're going to be going after Rookwood's body next. This time we'll do it right. Top cover from MMS, Adrian here to do his star turn, heavy equipment so we don't need to use magic anywhere close to the body and proper communications. If we'd known then what we know now ..."

Carbuncle took another drink of his whisky. "Secrecy. It's got its place, but I think the Department takes it too far. I'm going to say that, too. There are people who won't like hearing it, but that's just too bad for them. Today is the textbook example."

"Well, I'm going to be putting in a report to the Chief, and I'm not going to be mincing my words, either." Dylan punctuated that statement with a long pull of his beer.

"I've got the Director's ear, and I'm bloody well going to put a flea in it." Andre said.

She looked around the table. "If we shout loud enough, maybe we can convince our respective bosses they need to talk to each other."

They all drank a toast to that.


	20. Chapter 20 Security Breach

**Chapter 20 Security Breach**

Harry saw Nicholas Flamel swipe his hand over the top of the stone column in the Cavern of the Stone, searching for what wasn't there.

"Gone!" Flamel gasped. "The Stone, and the Elixir! They're gone!"

Harry and Evan drew their wands and faced out, searching the darkness beyond the pool of light cast by the lantern for any movement that might betoken a threat. Harry was the first to lower his wand. "No bloody use here. Magic doesn't work."

Harry and Evan both sheathed their own wands, looking ticked off and uncertain.

It took a little time to get Flamel calmed down to the point where he could make sense. Evan took the lantern and did as much of a search as he could while not leaving Harry and Flamel in the dark. He found little. The Cavern of the Stone was shaped like a bubble with a flat bottom, its walls of smooth black rock leaving no place to conceal anything or disguise another passage.

As He came back around to the area between the two columns and the elevator, Evan held up his hand for better light. "Harry, I think I've found something."

"What?" Harry said, watching what Evan was doing.

Evan was kneeling on the floor, holding up the lantern and looking down intently. "There's a thin layer of dust on the floor of here, Harry. It's not noticeable unless you look closely, and it's been disturbed. Boot prints, large ones."

Evan walked toward the column, then held up the lantern and looked around. "They lead to the columns, then back again to the elevator."

Evan shook his head. "Not much here, but a little. Big bastard, wore a size twelve boot. Six feet or so, by the length of the stride."

"You're sure it's not Flamel?" Harry said, dubiously.

"Easy way to check." Evan replied. "Take a good look, Harry, tell me what size of shoe does Flamel wear?"

"What?" Harry sounded baffled.

"Shoe size." Evan replied patiently.

After a short silence, Harry replied, "Eight and a half. Shoe, not a boot."

"Anything else you can make out of it?" Harry asked after a pause.

Evan shook his head. "Not I. Someone better trained might be able to, but how far do we want to spread the secret of this place?"

Harry thought about that, then shook his head. "We'll keep this close-hold among the three of us for now. Even if we knew more, we already know the villains are hiding out. I doubt it would tell us anything useful."

"Makes sense to me. For my part, I'd like to get out of here. This place gives me the bloody creeps." Evan said, irritably.

"Yeah. Let's do that." Harry raised his voice. "Come on, Mr. Flamel, let's go."

It was a slow business getting Flamel back to the elevator, and the ascent was not quick either. Harry and Evan took turns on the cranking. The oppressive feel of the Cavern ebbed slowly away, and when they reached the surface again both of them took a deep breath of relief.

They got Flamel into a chair in the Roman villa. He was in a pitiable state, muttering to himself in despair and hardly responsive to his surroundings.

Harry looked down at Flamel and shook his head. _Now I know what a man looks like when he's lost everything he ever cared about._

Evan took Harry's attention away from the forlorn figure of Flamel. He was prowling around the room, looking at the floor and the alcove where the Portkey to the villa was. "What are you doing, Evan?"

"Looking for clues. I'm not Sherlock Holmes, but it's worth a try. I suppose a magnifying glass would help." He peered carefully into the alcove where the Portkey sat, and raised an eyebrow.

"Sherlock Holmes? Who's he?" Harry said.

"Honestly, Harry, don't you read?" Evan said, in a passable imitation of Hermione's manner.

"Reading would have been fun. The Dursley's were all about making sure I didn't have any fun." Harry's look was bleak.

Evan looked stricken. "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

Harry shook off the bleak mood. "It wasn't your fault, Evan. What have you got?"

Evan looked at Harry over his shoulder. "Holmes was a fictional detective, but real detectives still use his methods. You observe details, then deduce from them. In this case, I think I've found something. There are insect tracks in the dust in the alcove around the Portkey. Flamel's not a very careful housekeeper, which is good for us."

Harry looked baffled. "So? That's supposed to mean something? Could just be an ordinary insect."

Evan shook his head. "No, Harry. Any wizarding dwelling will be free of ordinary vermin, even if it's not clean otherwise. There are simple wards for that. Anyone can cast them. This is Flamel's hiding place. You can bet your life it will have every ward you can think of, certainly a simple one like that. You notice there are no magical vermin here, either. Not like 12 Grimmauld was after it was abandoned."

Evan looked grim. "Well, well, well. I thought Rita Skeeter was the only insect Animagus. It looks as if I was wrong about that."

Harry frowned. "That makes sense. Certainly be useful for a criminal, just as it was for Skeeter. Flamel did get out occasionally. He had dealings with Dumbledore, probably other people as well. Reclusive as he was, there were things he needed and wanted. Gold he would have. The Philosopher's Stone would ensure that. The insect Animagus got on to him, spied on him until he knew where the Portkey to the villa was."

"Good, Harry. It does make sense. People have patterns, places they go regularly." Evan replied.

"What then? He couldn't just fly or walk away with it, not to mention it was still there." Harry looked puzzled.

"Wouldn't have to. He could just make a duplicate of it. Something small, that he could carry with him in his insect form. Then he crawls out a window or a crack somewhere, and off he goes. Flamel's security is breached, and he's none the wiser." Evan concluded.

"Duplicate it. Right, they make lots of Portkeys for the Quidditch World Cup and events like that. Not hard to do, I suppose." Harry asked.

"It's done all the time. Well known." Evan replied.

Harry looked down again at Flamel. "I suppose we could question him some more, see if we could get more details."

Evan looked down at Flamel, then shook his head. "To what point, Harry? We know what happened, and the damage is done. I say we just take him home and leave him with his wife."

Harry and Evan helped Flamel over to the Portkey. It took him two or three tries before he could say the pass phrase well enough to activate the Portkey.

When they emerged, Perenelle screamed. "What have you done to my Nicholas? What have you done?"

Perenelle rushed to her husband and helped him to a couch. Sitting him down gently, she looked up at Harry and Evan and said accusingly, "What have you done to him?"

Harry shook his head, and said as gently as he could, "We did not do anything to him, Mrs. Flamel. I'm afraid I have bad news for you. The Stone and the Elixir are gone. They were stolen. The secret of the Cavern of the Stone is, I am sorry to tell you, no longer a secret."

Perenelle's mouth opened with shock, and she collapsed on the couch next to her husband, looking as shattered and grief-stricken as he was.

"What happened, Harry?" Hermione said, looking down at the grieving pair.

"Pretty certain that one of the villains is an insect Animagus, like Rita Skeeter. Got on to Flamel during one of his outings, and got in that way. No telling how long he was inside or how much he found out, besides, obviously, the Portkey to the location of the Cavern of the Stone." Evan said.

"You'd think, with all his experience, Flamel would have guarded against something like that." Hermione looked judicious.

Evan shook his head. "It doesn't work that way, Hermione. No matter how clever you are, no matter how careful you are, no one's security is perfect. There's always the thing you didn't think of, the one time when you got careless, the one detail you missed."

He looked down at Flamel and shook his head again. "The way you check your security, find the holes you didn't know about, is to have someone else check on it, find the holes before the bad ones do. Flamel was a recluse, and he didn't trust anyone. I'll bet anything you like he would never have trusted anyone enough to do that."

"You have the right of it, I'm sure. All right, we're done here." Harry said heavily.

"Are you sure, Harry?" Hermione said.

Harry rubbed his eyes under his glasses, feeling tired and dispirited. "I'm sure. We've done enough damage to them. We do what we have to do to defend the Realm, but we don't do any harm we can avoid. The Cavern of the Stone isn't a threat. Eventually, I suppose, we'll have to consider what we're going to do about it, but that's eventually."

The three of them closed their eyes and prepared to Apparate as they had arrived. The last thing Harry heard was the grief-stricken hopeless keening of Perenelle Flamel. "You have murdered us! Thieves, invaders, murderers!"

They arrived back in MK-1's headquarters in Archley Park, on the Apparation platform, then walked down to the manor house past the security wards that surrounded it.

Harry sighed wearily. "Now there are reports to do."

Evan looked concerned, then said, "You need to let us do them while you go home and get some sleep."

"That's not fair on you, Evan." Harry replied, trudging on.

"You remember what I told you about being a drunken idiot when you're over-tired? I can read you that lecture again if I have to. We don't need the Chief of MK-1 being a drunken idiot. Off with you, now." Evan replied.

"Still not fair on you." Harry said.

"Hmmp. There's not a lot of fair to be had in the Queen's service to start with, and the second in command is at the tail end of the line for what little there is." Evan replied. He watched as Harry turned and trudged back to the Apparation platform.

"That was good of you, Evan." Hermione said.

"Well, it's my job. Harry tries to do it all himself, and drive himself into the ground doing it. He needs reminding of that from time to time. From a personal greedy selfish standpoint, I am nowhere near mad enough to want his job. Are you?" Evan smiled briefly.

Hermione shuddered. "Good God, no. The one I have is enough to keep me out of trouble and well occupied, thank you very much."

They walked in through the entrance of MK-1 Headquarters and headed for their offices.

* * *

Hermione walked down the corridor and stopped off to talk with Mrs. Harley. "Hello, Ethel. How is it going?"

Ethel looked up at her over her reading glasses. "Hello, Miss Granger. We're making progress on the file transfer, but it's going to be a while, I'm afraid."

"Well, it's an imperfect Realm, Ethel, and we can only do our best. We were never going to get any help worth talking about from MLE, so this is what we've got." Hermione replied.

Behind Ethel, dozens of quills were writing on pieces of parchment, mirroring images that hung in the air in front of them. Some of the parchment sheets zipped directly up into the file room, others went to the desks of clerks who added annotations to them before sending them on their way. It was a continuous river of parchment, making a whispering sound as the sheets of parchment slipped off the pads mixed with the scratching of the Dicta-Quills.

Ethel looked a little piqued, wrinkling her nose. "You'd think MLE would want to set up their own system, now they know it's possible."

Hermione chuckled ruefully. "Something better would mean change and efficiency in the Ministry. I'm sure there would be senior people running screaming into the night at the prospect. However, what I did come by to ask about was the Animagus files."

"Ah. Well, the files on registered Animagi we do have. That was high on the priority list, and pretty straightforward. Criminal records where the suspect was suspected of being an Animagus, those are on the list of things we flag as a search parameter, so I could do a search. I certainly don't guarantee results. The file transfer is incomplete, and even when it's complete it won't be everything by a long cast." Ethel looked frustrated.

"I know, Ethel. Frustrating, but we'll just have to live with it. MLE is full of files squirreled away in desk drawers and file cabinets, and no way of knowing what's in them. Director Shacklebolt wasn't happy about giving us access to the central file registries, but he was adamantly against letting us have anything else." Hermione spread her hands in resignation.

"Anyhow, something is better than nothing. What I'd like you to do would be to run a search for insect Animagi. Rita Skeeter we know about, and I think we can rule her out. We have some reason to believe there might be another one, or ones, out there. Let me know when you have any results." Hermione gave Ethel a wave, and headed off to her own office.

Having dictated her own report, and flagged it for access to Director Level and above, she headed out for the Apparation stage to get some sleep herself.

* * *

The file folder materialized in Major Lee's In basket with a crack. It was a thick one, with the logo of MK-1 on the cover. The Man picked it up, and raised his eyebrows. There were not one, but several reports in it. The covers had the crests of MK-1, MI-5 and there was even one from the Department of Mysteries.

Lee went through and read the Executive Summaries of the reports, and his eyebrows went up and stayed up. Her Majesty's vision was bearing fruit far sooner than he could reasonably have expected, and the inter-agency cooperation achieved in the process verged on the miraculous. It was all a very good thing, too, and not a bit too soon, either.

The amount of sweat and risk that had gone into getting a Portkey to a rally point for the Death Eaters was altogether impressive by anyone's standards. Sir Harry's understated conclusion that using such a Portkey could be a hazardous business deserved being written across the sky in letters of fire. This was going to be a job for MMS, and would need very careful planning.

"Sergeant Fletcher." He raised his voice enough to carry into the next office.

"Sir?" Fletcher came in, looking quizzical.

"I've got something for you. I'm afraid your pint is going to have to wait."

He handed Fletcher the file folder. "Sir Harry has not been letting the grass grow. It looks as if we will be doing a Portkey jump to a rally point used by the Death Eaters. We'll need to plan that very carefully, and we will certainly be doing it in force."

Sergeant Fletcher took the folder, looked through the reports in it, then smiled cherubically. "Well, well. Hard information gathered by competent people and reported in timely fashion. And it's not even my birthday. I'll get on it right away."

"Let me know when you're ready to brief, Sergeant."

Major Lee watched him back to his office and tapped the rune for the announcement system. "Warning Order. DCO, RSM, Troop Commanders, my office."

* * *

Adrian Carbuncle was standing in front of Croaker's desk, called on the carpet. He wasn't interested in looking properly abashed. He'd known his report was going to go up the chain quickly, and the Director wasn't going to be pleased.

"Mr. Carbuncle, I have read your report. You are very critical of our policy of secrecy. It is hardly your place to make policy about that."

"I don't make policy, Sir. You do. This report details the rather unpleasant consequences of too much secrecy where it withholds information from the people in the field." Adrian replied.

Croaker flushed, and said, "You have played very fast and loose with that policy, Mr. Carbuncle. You handed over that Portkey to people outside this Department, including mug ... non-Magicals."

"So I did, Sir. That was my judgement as the man in the field. They are going after Voldemort and the people who are doing their energetic best to resurrect him. The traps I defeated were constructed by Augustus Rookwood." Adrian kept his tone properly deferential.

"I should discipline you for a security breach." Croaker said.

Adrian said nothing and waited. _Go right ahead. Do whatever you want. Then you find someone else who is willing to tackle Rookwood's work, and is competent to do it without getting himself toasted to a crisp. I'll wait._

Croaker just glared, while Adrian was sure the counterpart to that thought was running through his head.

"I am currently seconded to MK-1, Sir, to work with the combined team. Are you revoking that?" Adrian asked, giving Croaker look for look.

Croaker looked grudging. "No. You will continue with your current assignment."

 _You aren't willing to cross wands with the Chief of MK-1._ "Then, by your leave, Sir. Preparations are in hand for the recovery of Rookwood's body, and I need to get ready."

At Croaker's irritated nod, Adrian left.


	21. Chapter 21 Questions and Answers

**Chapter 21 Questions and Answers**

John Hardcastle walked up to the desk of the Senior Constable in the Commercial Fraud Section of the Metropolitan Poice. The heavy set man behind the desk looked up, his round face resembling an ill-tempered bulldog.

"Just 'oo might you be?" The Constable's tone matched his face.

John decided trying to generate some good will would be a waste of time. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and produced his MI-5 warrant card. "John Hardcastle, MI-5. There was a Fraud case you worked recently, Constable Whitehead. The Whitsun Wholesale Meats case."

The bulldog face grew more unpleasant. "Well, lah-dee-dah. What do the spycatchers want with little old me?"

"A bit less attitude, for a start." John replied, keeping his voice level.

"Oooh. Shakin' in me boots, I am." The sarcasm was as thick and sour as rancid butter.

Hardcastle cocked an eyebow and emphasized his Oxford accent a little. "I get the sense that you don't like me. The thing of it is, I don't like you, either. More to the point, your Sergeant doesn't much appreciate your attitude. If he had cause to make your life a misery, such as, oh, perhaps an official complaint of your lack of cooperation in an ongoing counter-terrorist investigation, I rather think he would. He strikes me as a man who does a thorough job when he sets his hand to something."

Hardcastle was rather accustomed to a degree of resentment of the Security Service from local cops. The information flow was all one way, as it had to be. The Service had powers they didn't, though the conspiracy theories about them being an all-powerful secret police were so much moonshine from lunatics. Usually he was willing to let it go. This was over the mark.

Evidently that got through to this blimp, because he looked sulky and started fumbling around the mess on his desk. John waited with all the patience he could muster, which wasn't a lot. His own desk wasn't a paragon of neatness, but he could find something when he wanted it. Finally, Whitehead pulled out a paper file. _Hadn't got round to putting a full report into the system._

Hardcastle took a chair without being asked, took the file from Whitehead, flipped it open and started speed-reading. It didn't take long. "Some questions, Constable."

The sulky look was still there. John ignored it. "The sea can was headed for Felixstowe, and it vanished along the way. Where was it bound?"

"Ireland."

"Which is not in your report. The truck was recovered. What was the mileage difference on it?"

At the baffled look, Hardcastle said, "The difference on the mileage when it left the loading dock and when it arrived back again."

"Wasn't important." Whitehead said grudgingly.

"You interviewed the driver and his helper. Your report on the interview is less than helpful."

"Said they couldn't remember a bloody thing. Lying, that they were, I'm sure of it." Whitehead was still sulky.

"There could be two opinions of that. If the interrogator knew what he was about and could tell the difference." John replied.

The blimp flushed at that.

"How was it the company hadn't picked up on the loss sooner?" John asked.

"They came back with a manifest, looked all right."

"The company did an audit, which is how they caught the missing shipment in the first place. How long after it went missing were you called in?" John said.

"Two months. There was another one, four months prior." Whitehead had apparently decided the sooner this was over the sooner he could get back to his idle and disorganized normal.

John flipped back and checked. He'd missed that in the mess of the file. "Well, that's relevant."

"Relevant to what?" Constable Blimp said.

"Not your affair, Constable." John didn't know himself, but he wasn't going to tell him that.

"So, just to sum up, sixty tons of meat with a value of a little over three quarters of a million pounds has gone missing, and you've put in the effort that would equate to two roasts from the corner butcher shop." John said, evenly.

Silence from Whitehead gave assent. John tucked the file under his arm and left. He walked down the hall to the Sergeant's office. The Sergeant was Whitehead's polar opposite, neat, intelligent and organized. "Did you get what you needed?"

"Well, there were some deficiencies." John replied.

"Oh?" The Sergeant raised his eyebrow.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to keep this file, Sergeant. I'll ask you to remove the preliminary report from the system, as well." John said.

"Certainly. Can you tell me what the deficiencies might be?" The Sergeant seemed gratifyingly unresentful at MI-5 taking the case.

"His interrogation of the driver and his helper was rather perfunctory, he didn't bother with copies or originals of the faked manifests, the mileage on both the trucks was missing, he didn't follow up on the earlier loss with the same MO from the same company, and he didn't check the driver's and helper's financials." John said.

"Mmmm. That's not up to the standard I expect of my people." The Sergeant replied.

The Sergeant frowned briefly. "Are you going to file an official complaint?"

John shook his head decisively. "No, that would be a lot of unnecessary trouble for the both of us. Besides, it would call attention to this case, attention we'd much prefer to avoid. A wink is as good as a nod to a blind man, after all."

"Well, thank you for bringing this to my attention. You know, I'm not altogether sure Constable Whitehead has found his calling in Commercial Fraud." The Sergeant said, thoughtfully.

"All that I'll leave in your capable hands, Sergeant." John took his leave. He'd kept his word, after all. He'd said nothing about unofficial complaints.

He got back to his desk in Century House and started in on the report right away. What the D-G wanted, she got and that promptly. Just how terrorists would have any use for meat by the ton was rather a puzzle, but it wasn't his puzzle.

* * *

Andre Norton looked around the briefing room. The players for this round of the fight were all in the same room, and they were going to be on the same page this time. Lieutenant Ashland of the MMS was the Troop CO, Air Element, MMS. They would have top cover this time out, right from the get go. Adrian Carbuncle sat in his chair, with his quiet clerkly manner firmly in place. MK-1 and MI-5 would be represented by the proven team that had retrieved Lestrange's body.

The briefing was totally non-electronic. Andre got the ball rolling. "We are going after the body of Augustus Rookwood. He was the magical engineer of the Death Eaters."

She glanced over at Lieutenant Ashland, who was looking as if he wasn't sure what that meant. "Think of him as the magical equivalent of a terrorist bomb-maker. A very good one. A very twisted and psychotic one."

He nodded slowly in understanding. She returned her attention to the rest of the room. "I'm taking it that you have all read the report on the Lestrange retrieval. We encountered armed resistance from unidentified hostiles. Dylan hit one of them with lethal magic, and he burned alive. If you are close to one of them when he's hit, whether dead or disabled, you'll be burned alive, too. Bear that in mind. Attempting to capture one of them runs a high risk of tripping that trap, too."

"Is there any means of disarming this magical bomb?" Ashland asked.

Andre pushed the question over to Carbuncle with a wave of her hand. "Adrian."

"I've been looking at that problem. It's not an easy one, there's no risk-free solution. I'll defer to others as to whether the risk is worth the benefit of taking one of them alive. I suspect we might have a choice on that. I'm reasonably sure the Death Eaters didn't show up by accident when we opened Lestrange's grave. I think there was a spell that would have been triggered if someone tampered with the grave. I can think of a number of ways to do that."

Andre cocked her head. "Could you disarm such a spell?"

"I think so. It would require time, and some careful work." Adrian replied.

"Operational decision point, then. We disarm the spell, retrieve Rookwood's body, get it back, and we're home and dry. Or, we trip the trap and try to capture a prisoner for interrogation, at greater risk." Ashland said, moving his hands as if weighing something in the scales.

Andre raised her hand. "Well, obviously we, our agencies, would all have to be on board with this."

Sergeant Fletcher was in the room, but up to now he had confined himself to being an observer. "I don't tell operations how to do their business, but the information and intelligence we have to support the planning process for the assault on the Death Eaters main base is very thin on the ground, all due respect to good work done by people in this room. That's the sort of deficiency that causes casualties and mission failures."

Ashland cocked an eyebrow and brushed a finger across his ginger mustache. "For my part, reconnaissance is never a bad idea. I have my marching orders from the Commander MMS, and he's not much interested in 'Mother, may I.' Mark us present."

"Well, there are certainly a lot of unanswered questions MI-5 would dearly love to know the answers to. What else these people might be doing besides bring a terrorist leader back to life is certainly one. I'd say it's worth a bit of risk to find out. My Director has given me orders to get on with it." Andre said. She saw Jim and Anne nod agreement.

Dylan looked wry. "I'll agree with MI-5, and for the same reasons. MK-1 has a long list of questions they'd like to put to one of these gentry. The Chief of MK-1 doesn't wet-nurse his people, either."

Andre turned her head toward Adrian. "You're the key player in this, and you'd be the one at greatest risk, I think."

He gave a wry, lopsided smile. "My Director wouldn't be keen, so I think I'll just ask forgiveness rather than permission."

"What's the operational concept here?" Ashland said.

"We have to work around the curse on the Death Eaters. Disarming the spell on Lestrange's body gave me a better feel for Rookwood's work. The curse on them is triggered by serious damage to the body, or the effective use on them of a list of spells that would result in them being captured. They're wizards, and they're still alive, so it can't be just any spell. It clearly doesn't interfere with their own use of magic. If they go unconscious, they should be all right. They have to sleep, after all, and I expect some of them pass out from being drunk from time to time, as well." Adrian said, precisely.

"We'd have to lure or herd one or more of them into a trap that doesn't use magic against him directly." Ashland said.

"There are one-way wards. Enter all you want, but don't leave again." Adrian replied.

"Next step, then, we have to render the prisoner unconscious, without using magic against him directly." Andre said.

"We could just Taser him." Jim said.

"Taser?" Adrian said.

"It knocks someone out using an electrical shock." Jim said.

Adrian shook his head definitely. "I really, really would not advise that. Magic and electricity are a bad mixture. It would most likely trip the curse, and I wouldn't care to be the person holding that weapon, either."

"Tranquilizer gun." Anne said.

"How does that work?" Dylan said.

"Fires a hypodermic needle full of a drug. No electricity need apply." Anne said.

"Does it do much physical harm?" Adrian asked.

She shook her head. "A pinprick, that's all."

"That would work, I think. Can we get one?" Adrian replied.

"I can organize that." Anne replied at once.

"Two or three would be better." Ashland interposed.

"I'll do that. I'll make sure the dosages are right, too. The amount of drug has to be right. Too much, you can kill the subject from an overdose. Too little, and it doesn't work." Anne said, taking out a notebook and making a note.

"How much do they weigh, do you think?" She looked up again.

Dylan cocked his head for a moment. "All the ones I saw were men, and pretty big lads at that. I'd say around two hundred pounds would be right."

"Right you are, then." She made another note.

"Jim, how are we on the equipment?" Andre asked.

He chuckled, looking like a boy opening a particularly big toy at Christmas. "I had a word with my old mates in the Royal Engineers, and I've arranged to borrow a Terrier. Advanced engineer vehicle, digs, plows, whatever you want. You can even operate it remotely at a pinch. We'll move it in a 30 ton cargo truck, nice and inconspicuous."

"I take it this vehicle has electronics in it. I don't wish to be a wet blanket, but there is a potential problem there." Adrian said.

"Not to worry. I've catered for that. It can be shut right down, no power at all, so there wouldn't be a problem then. I dig a hide for it, a good deep earth shelter. There it stays, shut down, until it's time to get the job done. If things go pear-shaped, back into the hide again. At a real pinch, it can do thirty miles an hour over almost any terrain." Jim replied.

Andre looked around the room. "The pieces are in place, and the players are on the pitch. We go."

Andre ran over everything mentally one more time. It was another little parish graveyard, not far from Little Hangleton. The MMS were in the air, the Terrier was in its hide, and the wards had been set up. Anne was in cover in the warded area, with two tranquilizer guns at her hand.

Andre and Ashland had both argued against that, but Anne's argument was compelling. "Before I went to the dark side, I came all over environmentalist for a while. Darting rhino so you can move them to where they're safe from poachers isn't a walk in the park."

Andre came up to where Adrian stood by the tree line, not far from where the hide for the Terrier was. Nothing visible happened when he cast a spell, but after a few seconds he smiled with satisfaction. "Not hard at all. One of the stones on the grave is a Portkey. Disturb it, and it vanishes off to raise the alarm. The response will be by Portkey as well."

"Stand by." Andre said.

The rune on the ground in front of her was active. "All players, we are ready to activate. Confirm in position."

"SUNRAY. In position, good to go." Ashland said.

"HOLDFAST. In position, good to go." Jim's voice came from the nearby hide as well as the rune.

"RHINO. Ready." Anne's voice was steady.

"SHAMROCK. Ready." Dylan's voice held a little more Irish than usual.

Andre checked her own rifle and sidearm, then said, "Adrian, activate."

His wand moved slightly. She couldn't see anything change, but he said, "It's gone. We're going to have company."

Andre waited in the shade of the oak tree, totally alert with her binoculars up, searching the sky. Vision augmented by both optics and magic according to the choice of the owners swept the sky. *There!*

"Three hostiles, bearing 210." Andre stepped out into plain sight. They had to give the villains reason to believe there was actually someone there, it wasn't just a false alarm. She didn't have to like it, but she was hosting this party.

The path from where they were to her would pass right over the warded area. There were limits to the size of the ward, so the Air Element of MMS was probably going to have to give luck a hand to ensure one of them would get caught in the ward.

The one in the middle jinked to one side as one of the MMS brooms slashed down to one side of him, and he jerked hard to the right by reflex. The one on the right pulled up as he belatedly realized something was wrong. The one on the left was less aware or more single minded, and he came straight down toward Andre.

She went to one knee, took the SA-80 off safety and made sure it was set to semi-automatic, then took her time taking a good aim on the centre mass. Crack! Crack! Crack! She was firing timed fire, reacquiring her sight picture for each shot. MI-5 training included weapons even if you didn't usually carry them.

BOOM! An explosion sent her to the ground, covered with dirt and debris. She hit the ground and stayed there. After a minute or two with no further sounds, she looked up and around. There was a crater to her left and forward that was undoubtedly from a _Bombarda_. A sweep of the sky showed no sign of her erstwhile attacker. The middle Death Eater was going around and around in a circle at a speed that had to be dizzying.

Jim was there, and helped her up. "Andre, are you all right?"

She brushed some dirt off herself, more to show poise than anything else. "I'm fine. What's happening?"

"You got the one. Went up like a Roman candle. We pushed the second one right into the wards. The third seems to have had a grain of sense. Got the Hell out of it. Ashland's in pursuit."

One of Ashland's men had a tranquilizer gun, but whether he'd be able to get close enough to use it effectively was iffy.

She and Jim both turned their attention to the ward, where the Death Eater trapped inside it was slowing his dizzying pace. She watched him pull his broom up to a hover, no doubt looking to sort himself out and figure out what had happened. She saw him jerk suddenly, then look around in bewilderment with his wand out.

Andre looked around, then realized she had her binoculars on a neck strap, and focused in on the Death Eater. There was an orange dot right in the middle of one cheek of his ass. _Well shot, Anne. Bigger game than any rhino!_

It took a couple of minutes before the Death Eater swayed and fell off his broom. Anne came out of cover, pulled the needle out and checked his vitals. Then she stood again and gave an exultant two thumbs up, hands in the air.

The next couple of hours were a hive of activity. Jim got the Terrier out, excavated the coffin and pulled it out of the ground. It was almost an hour later when Ashland and the section that had pursued the other Death Eater returned. They hadn't been able to take him alive.

Everyone stood back at a very respectful distance while Adrian took on the job of removing the curses from the unconscious Death Eater. A long, aching suspenseful wait later, he stepped back and waved the signal for All Clear.

The Death Eater was taken out by stretcher to an ambulance waiting down the road in the trees out of harm's way. He was going to be treated like royalty, and kept unconscious.

Adrian walked slowly back to the trees, and sat wearily down on a tree stump. "I'll have a breather first, before I tackle Rookwood."

Jim looked down at him and said, "I've got a better idea. We'll transport the body as is, it can go back to your Department, and you can tackle it when you've had good dinner, a pint and a decent night's sleep."

Adrian looked tempted, but said, "Well, I don't know ..."

"I do," Andre said, brusquely. "You're in no fit state, and you've done an honest day's work and then some."

An hour later, there was hardly anything to show what had happened there.

* * *

Andre watched through the one way window of the interrogation room as the Death Eater slowly made his way back to wakefulness. The whole team were there, by well earned right.

The Death Eater turned his head as the door opened and a man walked in and took a seat across the table from the Death Eater. He was slight, below middle height, with a scar on his forehead. He wore round-lensed glasses with black frames.

"Oo the Hell are you, anyway?" the Death Eater blustered.

"Potter. Sir Harry Potter."


	22. Chapter 22 Findings

**Chapter 22 Findings**

The word had evidently been passed in the Department of Mysteries. This time the Chief of MK-1 was passed through the security checkpoints with quick efficiency. Harry was shown into Augustus Croaker's office immediately he arrived.

"Sir Harry, please have a seat. What can I do for you today?" Croaker's manner wasn't fulsome, but he was clearly keen to avoid repeating the previous mistake of trying to condescend to the Chief of MK-1.

Harry took the visitor's chair, putting his briefcase on the floor beside him. "Well, an issue has come up in the course of our investigations where our mandates intersect. You will recall the matter of Nicholas Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone."

"Of course." Croaker replied at once.

"I followed up on the interview you were kind enough to arrange with Mr. Flamel. I was able to find out a good deal about the Stone and the Elixir of Life, their nature and how they are created." Harry said evenly.

Croaker looked astonished, then wary. "That's most interesting, Mr. Potter. Mr. Flamel is most protective of his secrets."

"So he is. Unfortunately, his security was breached by the Death Eaters. A Philosopher's Stone and a quantity of the Elixir of Life fell into the hands of the people who are trying to resurrect Voldemort. We are continuing the hunt for those persons. In that connection I would like to thank you for the loan of Mr. Carbuncle. He has been a valuable member of the combined team and his contribution has been invaluable."

"He is one of our best. I am glad he has been able to make a useful contribution. You are, of course, welcome to retain his services as long as you have need of them." Croaker had to work a little to maintain his gracious attitude.

"Thank you. I'll take you up on that kind offer." Harry watched Croaker's expression. He was taken aback, but not willing to try to backtrack. Dylan Arnold had been at pains to convey his strong impression that Carbuncle had not been well treated by his superiors.

 _I'll just see whether Adrian Carbuncle finds a home in MK-1, or if the Department decides for themselves it's worth a little effort to retain their valuable talent. I'm quite sure I have a reputation for pirating people from other agencies._ "As I said, I did a follow-up interview with Mr. Flamel. I was able to persuade him to show us the source of the Philosopher's Stones, and the Elixir of Life."

Harry cocked his head and waited for Croaker's response. "What can you tell me?"

Harry smiled, and let Croaker hang a little. He wasn't going to be vindictive about this, but a reminder to Croaker that he wasn't going to be talked down to was in order. "The Stone and the Elixir are both magical artifacts, created by known and normal means, that are exposed to a very high level of magical energy. There is a cavern below ground, to which Mr. Flamel has access, which is in the middle of a pool of raw magical energy. Putting a normal magical stone, and a normal healing potion in that cavern and allowing them to soak up that energy is how they are created. The problem, simply, is time. It takes decades for a Stone or a flask of Elixir to absorb that much magical energy."

"Where is the Cavern?" Croaker asked. He leaned forward in his chair, looking eager.

"I don't know. Access to the entrance is by Portkey. Mr. Flamel retains that Portkey. It is, after all, his property." Harry replied. He was at pains to make sure his tone was sufficiently off-hand.

"How did you gain access, then?" Croaker said, looking suspicious.

"I was able to persuade Mr. Flamel to take me there of his own free will. If you wished to gain access, that would be a matter for you to negotiate with him."

"Can you put us in touch with him?" Croaker was looking a little frustrated.

"Mr. Croaker, you were the one who put us in touch with him. I will presume you retain that avenue of communication. I would suggest you use it." Harry was going to be firm on this, and he was pretty sure Croaker could see that.

Harry reached down and extracted a thin sheaf of parchment from his briefcase. "This is a copy of the report on the interviews with Mr. Flamel. It contains what we have been able to find out from him about the Stone and the Elixir. I am willing to release it to you, on your word that it will be kept secure, and access to it will be on a need-to-know basis within your Department, only."

Croaker looked thoughtful, then said, "Very well, Sir Harry, you have my word."

Harry handed him the report. On the cover was **ARCANE** in large red letters at the top and bottom of the page.

Harry smiled briefly at Croaker's expression of surprise. "We have our own system of classifying information, Mr. Croaker. ARCANE is the highest level, requiring the strictest control."

"I see." Croaker opened the report, and his eyebrows went up. "Parts of this report have been blacked out."

"So they have, Mr. Croaker. This copy of the report has been redacted. What is there is what, in my judgement, your Department needs to know. What has been removed is internal to MK-1 and will remain so. There are some obvious questions for you to pursue. Is the Cavern of the Stone the only one, or are there others? Is it possible to create a Stone or Elixir in less than decades, or in greater quantity? My impression is that Mr. Flamel is more interested in keeping his secrets than in doing research, but that is a conversation I will leave you to have with him."

"I see." Croaker looked sour, then wiped off the expression. "I will certainly have my people look into those questions, and such others as may come up during our research."

"Which is your Department's mandate, Mr. Croaker, and I wish you well in that endeavour." Harry replied.

* * *

The area of Little Hangleton where the Death Eaters had died was, to anyone who asked, an archeological dig. Certainly it looked like one. The people conducting that dig were vague about exactly which University was behind it. Anyone who asked was told that during the counter-terrorist operation evidence of ancient Roman ruins had been turned up, and so a dig had been ordered. Regretfully, the site had to be off-limits to the local people to avoid contamination of the site, which was already a problem due to the military operation that had gone on there.

Herb Erickson had in fact been an archeologist back in the day, so he had no difficulty looking the part as he sat in his tent doing the day's inventory. He was now a civilian consultant to MI-6. From time to time his skills and methods found use in more current issues. MI-5 was of course in charge of this domestic operation. He was a hire car, on loan to MI-5.

He took another look at the sketch of the ring he was looking for. He was not privy to the reason for looking for it. All he had been told was that it was important, and if it was found he was to report it and not under any circumstances to touch it or let anyone else do so. Specialists would take it from there.

 _One Ring to rule them all,_

 _One Ring to find them,_

 _One Ring to bring them all,_

 _And in the darkness bind them_.

Being a real archeologist didn't rule out reading and enjoying books about fantasy worlds. He liked the Indiana Jones movies, too, even though Jones would have been flung out of his University and jailed in the real world.

 _Well, there are no such things as magic rings, Herb. The reality is undoubtedly far more mundane. Back at it._

He continued the slow painstaking work of cataloging the day's finds. He was doing it virtually, however. Scanning down through the mess of the site using ground penetrating radar was a slow business. Scanning through the data for objects that might be of interest was slow, too. Normally, he would have had grad students to help him with that. That was not the case here, since archeology students with TOP SECRET clearances were pretty much platinum hens teeth.

Most of those objects, as with any dig, were the mundane day to day objects. These were still of use to archeologists because they spoke to how ordinary people lived their lives. In this case, he knew how the ordinary people of such a village lived their lives. Such was the case here. A teapot and a tea ball, a spent bullet from some infantryman's rifle, the list went on. He entered each of them into a database along with an image taken from the radar data.

Two hours later he stood up from the laptop, stretched, and decided he'd earned a cup of tea. He boiled the water over a spirit lamp. One of the numerous odd and not to be spoken of things about this particular assignment was not being allowed to have a generator here, or run a cable to the mains. His laptop was the only exception, and it was to be shut down when it was not in use. At that, the tent was a hundred yards away from the dig site itself.

Sipping at the tea, he sat down and got back at it. He was almost done this day's data dump, and he was going to go out for a pint when it was done. Tomorrow was another day. He almost missed it. The ring was deep, and it was inside a container. It took some work to sharpen up the image as much as that could be done. Radar just didn't give you the same resolution as visible light.

 _Well, follow the procedure, Herb._ He downloaded all the data concerning the object on to a USB stick, then shut down the laptop. He walked out to where his van was parked at the perimeter of the dig, retrieved his mobile phone and called the number that was not stored anywhere except in his head.

"2427." The female voice answered with the least possible amount of information to ensure that any random callers would get no useful reply.

"This is Digger. I have a report."

"Go secure." The voice replied.

He tapped the icon on the phone screen, and waited. The voice came on when the locked padlock icon appeared. "What do you have?"

"I have a match for the specified object. Correlation is 80%." Herb said. Even over an encrypted link it was better to be careful about what was said.

"80%?" The woman replied. It was hard to tell tone over the encrypted link.

"Ground Penetrating Radar has its limits. The object is the right size and shape, and dense, made of heavy metal. It is inside a container of some sort." Herb said.

There was a short pause. "Copy that. Special team will deploy. Remain on site, ready to brief the team."

"Understood." Herb replied. The line went dead.

 _Well, the pint will just have to wait. Of course, if this bloody job is done it will be worth waiting for._ Herb decided he might as well make another cup of tea.

He had just about finished the tea when the team arrived, five people in an unmarked van. The leader was a brown-haired, unexceptional looking woman with a no-nonsense air about her. She flipped out an MI-5 warrant card. "Dr. Erickson. You found something."

He fired up his laptop and showed her what he'd found, and where it was. The leader cocked her head toward one of the man, medium height with healed scars down the side of his face from bad burns.

"Location is about right, but the depth is a bit of a surprise." He said in a baritone that held a hint of Irish brogue.

"Someone might have buried it." Chipped in a blonde woman.

"Possible. Which means we need to be cautious." The judicious reply came from a middle-aged black-haired man dressed in an old-fashioned suit, looking like someone out of a Dickens novel.

"Dr. Erickson, if you could wait in the tent, please." It was a polite order, but it was an order for all that. Herb went back into the tent and dropped the flap.

The noises he heard for the next hour or so didn't make a whole lot of sense. There were sounds like a shovel being used, but the sounds of a person that would go with them were not there.

Then he heard someone, it sounded like the black-haired man, saying some things that sounded rather like Latin, in a very precise manner.

At the end of the time, they pulled back the tent flap and entered. The leader put a small ceramic tea ball on the folding table. "Good job, Adrian. Now we need to open this up. Rather carefully."

Herb pointed at the object and said, "If it's been made safe, you'd be better off letting me do that."

The leader looked at him and said, "Why is that?"

"Handling artifacts is what I do, Ms. ..." He said.

"Andre will do." She replied.

"It's very easy to damage something, Andre, if you don't know what you're doing. Due respect, I don't think you are trained archeologists." Herb said, keeping his voice reasonable.

"No, we aren't." Andre replied. "All right, you do it. We need to see what's inside of that."

Herb brought up the rolled up fabric case where his kit of tools lived, unrolled it on the table and went to work. Small brushes removed surface dirt, dentists tools picked the packed dirt out of the seam, then he twisted the tea ball apart. A small amount of dirt fell out, and on top of it a ring. It was the ring from the sketch, all right.

Herb picked it up with tweezers and used a fine brush to remove the surface dirt. Shortly the ring, now clean, was sitting on a white cloth on the table top. Herb recognized it at once as the ring from the sketch, with one exception. The stone was gone.

Andre said, "Well, Dr. Erickson, I'm afraid you're going to have to keep on looking. The stone is rather important."

Herb picked up the ring from the cloth, then took a magnifier from his tools and examined the ring closely. "I'll keep looking if you wish, Andre, but I don't think you're going to find that stone here."

"How's that?" She replied sharply.

He held up the ring and offered her the magnifying glass. "That stone didn't fall out of the ring. It was pried out intentionally. The tool marks are quite visible. This is an archaic design, medieval I would say. That mount is designed to withstand a lot of abuse."

He pointed to the laptop screen with the GPR image still on it. "You were right to say it was buried intentionally. The strata here are disturbed."

Herb's smile was brief and humorless as he put the ring back down on the cloth. "I've seen this all over the world. Looters and tomb robbers. The only odd part is why they didn't just take ring and all. The ring is gold, nearly pure I would say. Valuable of itself, even aside from the workmanship."

Dylan looked down at the ring, rubbing his chin meditatively. "The Resurrection Stone can't be traced, we know that, but I do wonder about the ring."

"The Gaunt family descended from the Peverells. They descended rather a long way, by all accounts. I could check and see." Adrian said.

"I'll have you dot the i's in due course, Adrian, but I think we know what the answer is going to be." Andre replied.

Adrian's nod agreed with her. "Which makes sense of this. They could find the ring easily enough, but if they could, others could too. So, take the stone, leave the ring and make it hard to find."

Andre turned back toward Herb and tapped the sketch. "I think you're quite right about all of this, but we do need to dot the i's in that direction, too. I'd like you to finish the site survey, checking in particular for a stone like that."

*Well, I don't see the end of this job just yet.* "It will take me three or four days longer, Andre. I was nearly finished when I found it."

She smiled. "Good. If you were to drop a few remarks about 'Waste of bloody time.' and 'Ancient ruins my left foot.', that would be helpful, too."

"I can certainly do that." Herb said. _A pint at the local is the best way to do that._

Dylan cocked his head in Herb's direction, but whatever question he meant by that was answered by an emphatic head shake from Andre.

A few minutes later the oddly-assorted team were gone along with the ring and the USB stick of data.

Herb decided that he had earned a pint, so he packed up the laptop and his tools, got in his own van and drove down the road to Harley's Cross, a few miles down the road. The local there was the Wheat Sheaf. The decor was uninspired but the beer was good. He ordered a pale ale and parked himself under the print of fox hunters in pursuit.

The waitress was around in due course to see if he wanted a refill. She was a gossipy sort, which was perfect. "Found any Roman treasure, Doctor?"

"No treasure of any sort, and nothing Roman except someone's souvenir teapot. Whoever was talking about ancient ruins didn't know his arse from his elbow." Herb replied.

"Plenty of those around. Another?" She said.

"Please." He said, and she bustled off to get it.

 _Goes without bloody saying that this is drop dead classified, but what the Hell were they talking about? Resurrection Stone? If they really are looking for a One Ring, who's the Sauron who wants it?_


	23. Chapter 23 Time Spent in Reconnaissance

**Chapter 23 Time Spent in Reconnaissance ...**

Sergeant Fletcher sat at his desk, with a litter of reports in front of him. There was the one from MI-5, "Investigation of Meat Thefts, London". The After Action Report from Operation Beowulf was there, too. Scamander's "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them" was flipped open to the chapter on dragons. Sticky notes on the pages had comments like, "How much meat?", "What stage of growth?" and "How bloody long to hatch?".

A package wrapped in parchment sailed in and dropped into his In box with a thump. He tore open the wrappings and smiled. "The Dragon Handler's Handbook" the cover said. This was the working dragon handler's bible, and and would hopefully have the hard practical information that Scamander's lyrical descriptions of the wonders of the creatures of the magical world were lacking. He opened it up, started reading and taking notes, then smiled. _When you want practical information, you ask practical people._

He filed away for future consideration the question of why there was no such thing as a magical computer, or for that matter a magical calculator. Doing the calculations he needed with a pen on parchment took time, time that could ill be spared with the Intelligence Preparation of the Battlespace shaping the planning process for going into the lair of the Death Eaters. He was quite sure it was possible. Magic could do extraordinary things. Possible didn't mean here on his desk now.

Wizards were very apt to simply take their wands and jump into the fray. Sir Harry had done that quite a few times, and by some miracle he was still alive. While that might make for exciting songs and stories, it was one Hell of a poor way to run a military operation. He'd had to explain that more than once to the people who were perennially saying, "Is it done yet?"

Several hours and a lot of tea and parchment later, he had an answer he could put his hand to his heart and swear to. Three dragons. If there were any hatchlings, they would be too small to be a serious threat. He wrote up a brief report detailing his conclusions, fired it off to the Commander, and went on to the next problem.

Major Stan Lee's desk was littered with parchment, too, even deeper than his Intelligence Sergeant's. He leaned back and considered a very operational decision. It had taken considerable kicking from both himself and Sir Harry to get the Department of Mysteries to divert itself from the weirder byways of magic and the deep mysteries of the structure of magic on to something more practical. There were people with such a practical bent in that Department, if they were pointed in the right direction and let to get on with it. The targeted Portkey had been the product of those people. Now they had another such application. Using it was a risk, and it was the business of the Commander to balance those risks.

On one side of the balance was surprise. The Death Eaters were aware the hunt was up. They were also aware that Portkeys had fallen into the hands of the authorities. To that extent, surprise was lost. It was reasonably certain they did not know that the combined team of MK-1 and MI-5 had taken one of their members alive for interrogation. That had been a ticklish, dangerous operation and had only been made possible by the application of both magic and technology in tandem.

Effective means of interrogation were not lacking, and they had been used to good effect to get everything the prisoner knew. The trouble was, as Sergeant Fletcher had pointed out irritably, he didn't know enough. It was a perennial problem with counter-terrorist operations. The low-level grunts who were exposed to capture didn't know much, as a rule, precisely because they were expendable. The fact that the prisoner was only slightly smarter than a box of rocks didn't help matters either.

The ideal reconnaissance system would be invisible and untraceable, and would get all the information you needed. The ideal reconnaissance system didn't exist. He was of no mind to send people in to get that information if he had any choice in the matter. There was an option to get that information without risking lives, but if it was seen the Death Eaters would know they were blown and MMS was coming for them.

The interrogation of the prisoner had established some useful facts. The Portkeys they had captured did indeed go to the lair of the terrorists, and not simply to some waypoint. It was underground, which confirmed the Intelligence assessment. The prisoner knew of no plan for the terrorists to simply bug out and fight another day. That was confirmed by Adrian Carbuncle's report, which gave as his expert opinion that trying to do so would trip the magical necklace bomb that all of them carried around.

Stan the Man totted up the balance sheet and decided that it was worth it. He cast a Patronus to Lieutenant Ashland and passed the word more directly to Sergeant Fletcher. PP-9 was a go.

PP-9, the letters stood for Portkey Peeker, was very modest looking object for the amount of work and magic that had gone into creating it. Its body was of grey material, looking like an oversized bowling ball. Atop the ball was a framework supporting an array of film cameras. They had chosen to use a Disillusionment Charm rather than invisibility. Neither was perfect, and any wizard knew to look for things like tracks in dust. Should PP-9 be taken intact, that would not be good either.

Ashland and his assistants were running down the checklist, each in their assigned position around the stage in the round room in MMS HQ, where PP-9 sat being made mission ready.

"Recce cameras." "Tested and correct." Before cameras had gone high-tech and electronic, planes and other recce platforms had carried film cameras adapted to the mission. These had been quietly obtained from a museum. The film had been harder to come by, but there were countries in some corners of the world who stuck to low-tech.

"Film packs.". "Loaded. Portkey cast." They didn't need PP-9 back, just the information.

"Disillusionment Charm." "Ready to cast." Any trooper in the MMS could cast that spell in his sleep.

"Main Portkey Charm." "Cast. Confirmed copy of Lestrange Portkey."

"Turtle spell." "Cast." That reply came from the Department of Mysteries representative who had developed it. It was simple enough in concept, based on robots that had been built in the non-Magical world. Now they would see if it worked.

" _Silencio_." "Ready to cast."

"Checklist complete. Good to go." Ashland pronounced. The members of the team that had built PP-9 stood ready for the next steps. The launch of this probe wasn't as complex as a non-Magical space probe, but the steps still had to be done in the exact sequence.

The spells were cast in a sequence as regular as a drumbeat, and PP-9 vanished.

Sergeant Fletcher stood in one corner, watching. "Now, we wait."

* * *

"Miss Granger. I may have a hit on the search you wanted me to run, about possible criminal unregistered Animagi whose form is an insect or similar." Ethel Harley had brought a file folder with sheets of parchment with her into Hermione's office.

"May have, Ethel?" Hermione looked up at Ethel, seeing Ethel's uncertain expression.

"It's rather shaky, ma'am, and I don't want to be sending Investigations off on a snipe hunt. Heaven knows they have enough and then some to keep them busy."

Hermione gestured her to a chair, and Ethel took it. "You aren't altogether comfortable with this sort of thing, are you, Ethel?"

"No, ma'am, I'm not. I do miss the British Library a bit. If you made a mistake there, a book got misplaced. Here, here the consequences are a lot more severe." Ethel said.

"They are, Ethel, but that doesn't mean we get paralyzed with indecision. The best we've got is all we can give. You've brought this to me, so let's take a look." Hermione said.

"All right, ma'am. There was a series of jewel and artifact thefts just before the Restoration. They follow a very similar pattern. MLE never put them together because different Aurors had the cases and ..."

"And MLE's filing system is a mess. No one loves filing systems, but they're your memory." Hermione said.

"Precisely so, ma'am." Ethel looked a little more comfortable, on her metaphorical home grounds.

"Walk me through it." Hermione said.

Ethel laid six pieces of parchment on the desk. "These are the artifact and jewel thefts. The missing artifacts are dark artifacts, so the investigating Auror was of the opinion that there were more that hadn't been reported. People who have dark artifacts aren't usually keen on admitting the fact to the Aurors. They are linked by a similar pattern, what the Aurors refer to as MO. The Aurors suspected that there was an Animagus involved, but they had no proof."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "Go on."

Ethel put another sheet of parchment down on the desk. "One of the artifact thefts was accompanied by a murder. An unusual and unsolved murder. The investigating Auror was of the opinion that the owner of the artifact had come in on the thief unexpectedly, and been killed for it."

"What was unusual about the murder, Ethel?" Hermione said.

"The victim died of poison. A very lethal and quick-acting poison. It had been injected into him. The Auror said the wound looked like a sting. MLE wasn't able to identify the poison, no suspects, the case is still open." Ethel continued in her careful precise manner.

She laid down another parchment, this one a copy of a non-Magical book. "MLE couldn't identify the poison, but I did. It's a mixture of nerve poisons, and it corresponds to a creature called the deathstalker scorpion. It's one of the most lethal creatures in the world. It's also very small, two or three inches long."

"Sounds rather nasty." Hermione commented.

"It is. One sting isn't automatically lethal, but it will kill you if you aren't strong and in good health. The victim in the theft was elderly and sedentary." Ethel said.

"I take it you have more?" Hermione said, with a trace of impatience.

"I did a search for other similar murders in the MLE files we have, and I found nothing, so I sent a request over to MI-5 for similar cases on their side. Six hits. I would say they were clearly murders, because the victims had been stung three or four times, enough to kill anyone."

"The connection to the Magical world?" Hermione said, her impatience replaced with interest.

"All six of the victims were non-Magic born and had left the Magical world for one reason or another. I cross-checked against Hogwarts registrations to establish that. The deathstalker scorpion is quite rare, and it's native to several areas in the Middle East, not Britain." Ethel said.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Well done, Ethel. So, you think there's an unregistered Animagus out there whose form is a deathstalker scorpion."

Ethel took a deep breath. "Yes, ma'am, that's what I think."

"Why do you think there's a Death Eater connection?" Hermione said.

"One of the stolen artifacts was called the Immortality Matrix. The report said it was a fake. A few years back there was a confidence game going on where someone was peddling them to the credulous." Ethel said.

"I see where you're being careful about this, Ethel. It's the sort of thing Voldemort would be interested in, but it's not a direct link." Hermione said.

"That's right, ma'am." Ethel said.

Hermione put a finger to her lips and looked thoughtful, then nodded decisively. "Yes. Put this over to Investigations with my compliments. Are there any leads that they could pursue?"

"One of the stolen artifacts surfaced in Borgin and Burkes, ma'am. The investigating Auror would have liked nothing better than to haul them both in for questioning, but they are a slippery pair." Ethel replied.

"That they are, Ethel. Good work. Take this down to Tonks, and we'll see what they make of it."

* * *

PP-9 appeared in a small dark alcove big enough for three or four people. The lighting was dim, from magic lights in the ceiling. The cameras began their subdued clicking, and PP-9 turned a complete circle in place, then rolled toward the brightest lights, which took it out into the main passage of the cave. It turned in a circle again, then rolled slowly down the passage, going toward the brighter lights, its cameras still clicking.

As PP-9 rolled slowly down the cave passage a human figure walked down the passage in the opposite direction. He was a middle-sized man, average of appearance, with a blood red stocking cap over his lime green hair. As he passed by PP-9 he stopped abruptly, pulled out his wand and looked around warily. After twenty or thirty seconds of looking around, he slowly sheathed his wand again and resumed his walk down to the Portkey arrival platform.

PP-9 knew nothing of all this, and in blind obedience to its programming it rolled slowly down the passage, the clicking of the cameras and the grinding of the ball against the gritty floor of the cave passage suppressed by the _Silencio_ cast on it. Periodically it bumped into the stone wall, turned through a random angle and set off slowly in the new direction.

Two hundred metres down the passage it stopped, turned in a full circle and then set off again. It had detected a new source of light, brighter than the dim lights in the passageway. PP-9 had no way of knowing that the new light source was irregular, glowing the red orange of flame and dying away again.

PP-9 bumped off a larger rock, turned in another complete circle, then rolled on past a dimly lit passageway toward the bright light source. PP-9 did not hear the angry roaring and reptilian slithering coming from the entrance of the great cavern, closed off with iron bars as thick as a strong man's fist. PP-9 bumped into one of the bars, turned, rolled ahead until it hit another bar, turned again and this time slipped through between the bars.

PP-9 rolled forward, hit another obstacle, turned in another complete circle and headed toward the brightest light source again. The huge gout of dragon fire destroyed it utterly, leaving no trace it had ever existed.

* * *

Sergeant Fletcher watched as the next roll of film appeared on the Portkey platform, then kept one eye on his watch as he waited for the next one. When it was two minutes overdue, he shook his head. "That's all we're going to get."

He took the rolls of film down to the improvised photographic darkroom and set to work. He was doing it himself, working from a handbook, because developing wet film was almost a lost art. The wide three-image format of the film from the recce cameras was even more thoroughly lost. He started with the last of the film reels to arrive, to see what exactly PP-9 had run into.

With two of the reels developed and hung to dry, he decided he needed a break and a cup of tea before tackling the rest. With the negatives dried enough to examine, he wound them on to reels and took them over to a light table to go over the images frame by frame.

There was a knock at the door, and Fletcher grunted, "Come." without taking his attention from the film he was examining. It was Major Lee. "What have you got, Sergeant?"

"Well, Sir, we have slightly good news, rather bad news, and more bad news."

"Well, tell me all of it." Major Lee's voice had no trace of surprise in it.

"The slightly good news is that I'm reasonably sure none of the Death Eaters saw PP-9. The rather bad news is that the Portkey arrival point is small. No room to bring the vehicles in. The really bad news is ..."

He moved aside to let Major Lee see the series of images from the last film that had arrived just before PP-9 had stopped sending them. It showed the giant triangular head of a dragon, with a blast of flame reaching out toward PP-9. There were two more dragons in the background.

"I was right, Sir. They do have three dragons, and all they have to do to let them into the corridor is to raise that iron gate."


	24. Chapter 24 Ingress Routes

**Chapter 24 Ingress Routes**

Sergeant Fletcher, the Troop Commanders, Captain Inkster, the DCO, and Major Lee were sitting around the table, having just watched the results of the last of a series of exercises aimed at finding a way to storm the entrance to the Death Eater's lair without getting a lot of people killed in the course of accomplishing not very much. The exercise had not succeeded.

The equation was very simple. Tackling dragons in a narrow corridor without cover and without heavy armour and heavy vehicle mounted weapons wasn't quite suicide, but the difference was not going to get you much. Excavating enough of a bridgehead to bring in the vehicles took too long. The Red Team simulating the Death Eaters had come up with a number of interesting variations on how to make an underground passageway a death trap.

"This is not a viable option, gentlemen. We need to find another way." Major Lee pronounced. The faces around the table showed no disagreement at all. Preparation and rehearsal were the margin of mission success when you had the intelligence to sort the good plans from the bad. The unpleasant fact they were faced with was that the intelligence they had gave them the answer that all the plans were bad.

"Sergeant Fletcher, could we mount another PP-9 infiltration?" Major Lee asked.

"We could, Sir. Whether it would be worth the risk is your decision, not mine. I will point out that we came very close to tipping our hand the first time." The Intelligence Sergeant had his professional face on, each word measured carefully.

"Question assumptions. What would you need to support a viable assault plan?" Sergeant Fletcher said, closing the folder in front of him and pulling up a pad of blank parchment.

"A route that doesn't run through that bloody death trap." Lieutenant Ashland said, tapping the Marauders Inc. map on the table that had just shown them the bloody failure of the simulated assault.

"How would we get that?" Sergeant Fletcher replied, his manner Socratic.

Cannon, the Z Troop Commander, ran his finger around the perimeter of the map where passages led off into the blank of the unknown. "If we knew the entire layout of the cave complex, we'd be able to pick, or make, an entrance that would support a viable assault plan."

"We had that during Beowulf." The DCO pointed out.

"So we did." Sergeant Fletcher said, and a predatory smile spread across his face.

"We had that because we had the physical location of the cave, which Sir Harry very competently discovered for us. I'd say that was an Essential Element of Friendly Information." He flipped to an new page on the pad and began writing.

When he finished writing, Sergeant Fletcher looked up at the rest of the men at the table. "I'll get the Request For Information out to MK-1 right away."

Major Lee's smile was grim, but it was there. "If we have that, I don't say we're laughing all the way to Gringotts, but we can put together a much better plan."

* * *

Borgin and Burke's was about ready to close for the day. Business was slow these days. The Aurors were around more and some of their regular customers were in Azkaban, or dead. The shop still made them a living, though. Borgin had the counter. Burke was out running down a lead on a valuable walking stick with, reputedly, some rather interesting properties.

There was a time when they had hired help for such work, but nowadays they couldn't justify the expense, or the risk. Both of them had nothing to worry about in an interrogation room, and they'd been there many a time. Occulomency had kept both of them out of Azkaban often enough. The sort of wizards you could hire for such work could make no such claim, and would certainly roll over and testify against them if they were caught.

Borgin saw Burke walk back into the dim light of the store, and cocked an eyebrow inquiringly. A fractional headshake and a barely noticeable shrug said he'd had no luck.

 _Tomorrow's another day._ Both of them had learned patience in the many years they had spent buying and selling the dubiously legal to and from the dubiously law-abiding. Borgin was about ready to begin the time-consuming process of shutting up the shop securely when the bell on the door tinkled as the door was pushed open. Forcefully. Borgin heard it hit the stop.

Borgin's well-honed sense of trouble sent him to total alertness as he recognized the newcomer. Medium height, dark hair and close-clipped beard. Andrew Greengrass was an Auror, a sharp and competent one. He might as well have been wearing his uniform dress robes for all the effort he was making to blend in to the surroundings of the Alley. His civilian robes were a conservative cut above what an Auror could afford. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Burke scanning the street outside the window to try to identify Greengrass' partner. Burke wasn't having any luck with that. _Hope it isn't that bloody chameleon Tonks_.

Borgin put his hands on the counter in plain sight and forced a cordial smile onto his face. "Auror Greengrass. How good to see you again. It's been a while. What can I do for you this fine evening?"

Greengrass kicked the door behind him, and it swung around and slammed shut. "You can answer some questions. Truthfully and completely."

Borgin sized up Greengrass. His wand wasn't out, but his hands and his stance said that could change in a split second. Trying to run for it wasn't going to cast. Apparation and Portkey wards were part of their security precautions. _No matter, really. We've been here before._

What bothered him was that Greengrass knew it, too. They'd done this dance with so many Aurors so many times that everyone involved knew the steps. _Why is he wasting his time?_

"Please put your wands on the counter and have a seat, gentlemen." Greengrass's tone made it an order, and his wand was in his hand.

Borgin thought about it for a minute, looked at Greengrass again, then pulled out his wand very carefully and laid it on the counter. At Greengrass' cold look, Burke walked slowly over to the counter and laid his wand alongside Borgin's. _This makes less sense all the time. If he was going to take us in, we'd be Incarcerous'd already._

Both of them walked slowly to the alcove in the back of the shop, next to the case with the assortment of oddly twisted human bones and under the display of masks of the Seven Fiends of Cilicia, that served as the shop's waiting room. Borgin sat down slowly, his attention fixed on Greengrass.

"You've got nothing on us, Auror. Whatever you think you've got, you're mistaken." Burke said, with a flash of defiance.

Greengrass chuckled. "You will find, Mr. Burke, that it is you who are mistaken. About a great many things."

He flicked his wand, as an Auror would do to show his badge, but what the gesture displayed was not an Auror's badge. It was a roundel, topped with a crown. The letters MK-1 were around the outside, and in the centre an eye opened and then closed again.

"Don't you wish I was an Auror, Mr. Burke. I am on Her Majesty's Service." He flicked his wand again and the symbol vanished.

Another flick of his wand brought up the image of a locket with an intricately carved gemstone, surrounded by a black mounting of entwined snakes. "This item was stolen six months ago, and its owner was murdered during the theft. It was in your shop at one point. I want to know everything you know about the person who sold it to you."

"We don't know anything, and you couldn't make us tell you if we did." Borgin said.

Greengrass pointed his wand at Burke, and cast _Petrificus Totalus_. Then he turned his wand back to Borgin. "Anaflax Borgin, as a subject of Her Majesty I command you to answer truthfully and completely the questions I shall put to you on Her Majesty's Service. So mote it be."

Borgin's mouth opened in shock as the weight of the spell came down on him. He was an accomplished Occulomens, on his guard and ready to evade or deflect a _Legilimens_ probe. Against this spell his training and experience were no use at all. It came down on his mind with an inescapable pressure like the weight of the sea on a diver.

Greengrass held his wand on Borgin. "The locket that I showed you. Tell me everything you know about it."

Borgin tried to resist the spell, and failed. "It is called the Serpent Stone. It gives the wearer the ability to speak Parseltongue. It was originally in the possession of the Nott family, but they sold it to a collector when they fell on hard times. Before the Restoration, we had searched for it, since Lucius Malfoy would have paid very well for it."

"Did you commission the theft?" Greengrass said.

Borgin's face took on the expression of a man straining to lift a great weight, as he struggled to resist the spell and failed. "Yes. Another collector offered us a premium price for it. We needed the money."

"You will yield up to me, complete and unedited, a Pensieve memory of all the dealings you have had with the individual you commissioned to steal the Serpent Stone." Greengrass commanded.

After another silent, futile struggle the pale threads of memory came drifting out the side of Borgin's head and into an open vial, which Greengrass then put away into a belt pouch.

Greengrass reIeased the truth spell and cast _Finite Incantatum_ to release Burke.

"Now then, gentlemen. The good news, as far as you are concerned, is that I no longer concern myself with criminal matters unless they constitute a threat to the Realm. So, you two have an opportunity to prove that you are mere common criminals and not a threat to the Realm. Cooperate with me, and you can go back to your dirty little deals and your perpetual game of tag with the Aurors."

Borgin rallied a little, pricked by Greengrass' contemptuous tone. "What if we don't, Mr. High and bloody Mighty?"

"Then you will be shielding and protecting a known Death Eater, which would make you Death Eaters yourselves. In that case you would be a threat to the Realm, and you would be my business." Borgin looked up at Greengrass' face, and decided that he didn't want to be this man's business.

He glanced over at Burke and saw the same reaction on him. "What do you want?"

"You can get hold of this individual. Set up a meeting to hire him for another theft. Make sure it's genuine, plausible and worth his time. Let me know where, when, and all the other details as soon as you've set it up." Greengrass could have been ordering a Butterbeer.

"How do we contact you?" Borgin decided the sooner this was done the better. He had spent over a century reading people, doing shady deals and dodging the Aurors. He was dead certain Greengrass wasn't bluffing.

Greengrass reached into his belt pouch and tossed Borgin a galleon coin. "Twist that when the deal is set up. The letters on it will tell you the time and place of a meet. Be there. Both of you."

Borgin said, grudgingly, "All right, then. This will take a little time, you know."

"Make it very little time, Mr. Borgin. He's an Animagus." Greengrass said.

"I know that. His form is some kind of a big bug." Borgin didn't know how Greengrass knew that.

"It is. Make sure he is not hanging off you when you come to the meet. Make very sure. When he's not stealing dark artifacts, he kills people for the Death Eaters. Unpleasantly. Tracelessly." Greengrass clearly didn't give a flobberworm dropping for Borgin aside from the information he wanted.

 _Bloody Hell._ Borgin had not known that, and he believed it. Greengrass clearly couldn't be bothered to lie to them.

"Be at your usual table at the Hanged Man, and do a good convincing job of boasting about having given one more dimwit Auror the runaround." Greengrass left without another word, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Darkon Muerte was a small, intense man who was good at blending into the shadows. Borgin's instinct had always been to avoid crossing him, and now he knew the instinct had been spot on. They had left a message in the usual dead drop, detailing a job they had put off for lack of a buyer. If Muerte asked, which was unlikely, they now had a buyer.

The meet was in the corner of a back alley that zig-zagged between the backs of buildings. It stank of rotting garbage and worse. Muerte was wearing dark clothes and standing next to a brick wall. Borgin knew why. If anything went wrong, or even looked like going wrong, he would transform, scuttle up the wall and be gone.

"You got a job?" Muerte said.

"We do." Borgin handed him an envelope with a photo of the item they wanted, and the address where it could be found.

Muerte opened the envelope and looked through the contents. "A ring. What does it do?"

"I'm told it's a Time-Turner." Borgin said carefully.

"Told?" Muerte's eyes bored into Borgin's.

"Customer thinks it is, and he's willing to pay. If it is one, it's unregistered." Borgin said.

"2,000 galleons. Cash on delivery." Borgin got right into the haggling.

"3000. One third up front." Muerte said. His eyes gleamed with avarice.

"2500. 500 up front." Borgin didn't normally front a payment, but he sometimes did where the customer wanted the item quickly and was willing to pay.

"750 galleons up front." Muerte's tone and cold stare told Borgin he thought he had the edge, which was what Borgin wanted him to think.

Borgin hesitated, glanced over at Burke, bit his lip. His reluctance wasn't altogether feigned. Showing Muerte they had the money ran the risk of Muerte deciding to try to kill them and take it.

"If you can deliver in three days, deal." Borgin said.

"Why three days?" Muerte's habitual look of cold suspicion sharpened.

"The buyer has heard there's someone else after it. The Ministry, maybe. That's all I know."

"Deal." Greed was Muerte's besetting weakness. Borgin was counting on that.

Borgin reached around behind his back, opened the pouch with the Undetectable Extension charm, and pulled out three bags of galleons, 250 each. He tossed them over, one by one, to land at Muerte's feet. Muerte cast diagnostic spells on the bags, found nothing, and counted one of the bags.

"Three days." Muerte walked away into the shadows of the alley.

Borgin and Burke exchanged glances of relief, waited for Muerte to be well out of sight, then headed off in the opposite direction.

Back at the shop, they twisted the galleon and waited. The answer wasn't long coming. The glowing letters on the galleon directed them to a meeting place outside a tea shop, on the border between the respectable Diagon Alley and the less respectable Knockturn Alley, an hour and a half hence. They were given a password to ensure it was them.

They were at the tea shop dot on time, neither early nor late. The man who took the seat at the table looked nothing at all like Andrew Greengrass and was nondescript enough to get lost in a crowd of two, but the recognition was right. Borgin handed whoever it was the same information he had given to Muerte.

"When is he going to make the attempt?" The contact asked.

"In the next three days. We paid him extra, and I told him that someone else was after it." It went against Borgin's grain to be so forthcoming with anyone besides Burke, far less someone in authority, but he remembered the alternative too well.

A fractional nod acknowledged that. "Do you know how he'll get in?"

"No. I never ask that. We just pay for results." Borgin's reply was quick and sincere. That got him another fractional nod.

"All being well, you never hear from us again." The nondescript man got up and left.

* * *

Andrew Greengrass had finished briefing the other two members of the team that would be doing the op on Darkon Muerte. Ptolemy Jorkins was a former Ministry employee, who had worked in Accidental Magic Reversal among other departments. Eloise Higgs was an ex-Auror. They were both new on board, and it was a measure of how fast things were moving that Andrew was now considered an old hand, entrusted with teaching a couple of newbies how spells were cast in MK-1.

"I've got a problem with all this." Eloise looked unhappy.

"What is it?" Andrew was careful to keep his tone reasonable.

"This Muerte is good for, what, a half dozen murders? That we know of. We're just going to let him go?" She sounded definitely aggrieved.

"That's right. When all this is over, if the Chief approves and if he's still alive, we can hand off the file to MLE and they can have their go at putting him in Azkaban. I will point out that we got quite a lot of this information from MLE in the first place." Andrew replied mildly.

"Still goes against the grain." She said.

"Well, Eloise, I could point out that MLE lets small fish go to get the bigger fish, too. More to the point, though, is that it's not our business, not yours any more to be specific. We deal with threats to the Realm. I could have put Borgin and Burke through the wringer and got enough to put them in Azkaban, but that isn't our remit. MLE has had the best part of a century to deal with that issue, and they're still there doing business in the same old shop." Andrew was taking the time to go over this because Eloise had to understand that the rules were different here.

She chewed her lip, took a look at Andrew's face, and visibly decided to move on.

"We know where, we know when, we know what he's after, and we know what we want. Let's get it done."

Darkon Muerte stuffed his clothes into the small backpack with the Undetectable Extension charm, and hid it with a Disillusionment Charm. He transformed into his insect form and started the entry. He'd scoped out the setup earlier in the day, and his plan was straightforward. In through the crack in the stonework, transform back to human long enough to pick the lock on the case, levitate the ring out through the same crack he'd entered in, leave in his scorpion form, and be long gone.

The house had Portkey and Apparation wards. Their security was poor, but it wasn't that poor.

The first part of the entry was as smooth as getting into trouble. Getting in was no problem. Normally he'd have left the entry until the small hours of the morning, but he was on short time and the single occupant was an early to bed type.

As it turned out, he was on even shorter time than he thought. He was in the middle of picking the lock when he heard a commotion, which resolved itself to a male voice saying quite firmly, "Mr Elspeth, the Ministry has information you are in possession of an unregistered Time-Turner, and I have a properly authorized Order of Seizure from the Ministry. Show me to the object, forthwith."

The approaching steps sounded like thunder, and Darkon instantly transformed back to his insect shape, scuttled up the wall and hid in the shadows. The dimly lit room had plenty of those. He debated whether to simply bug out, but decided to wait. If the Ministry drone who was serving that order was the least bit careless, Darkon would have the ring all the same and one less bureaucrat would hardly be missed.

The Ministry employee arrived at the display case, looked down at the lock on the case, and his eyes narrowed. Even through the compound eyes of his scorpion shape, Darkon could see his suspicions were aroused, and he could see why. The lockpicks used a variant of the well known Shrinking Key charm, which made them small enough for him to carry in his insect form. In his haste, he'd forgotten to shrink them again and one was in the keyhole.

The Ministry employee straightened up again, and his wand was in his hand. He held it up and and said, " _Lumos Maxima_!"

The room was lit brighter than noonday sunlight, and Darkon's shadowed hiding place wasn't shadowed any more. He froze for a moment, but his indecision vanished as the Ministry wizard said, "What the Hell?" and pointed his wand at him.

Darkon's legs blurred into motion and he scuttled for the crack as fast as he could. He was about half way there when he heard the Ministry wizard shout, " _Hominem Revertio_!"

He felt the jolt as the spell hit the wall next to him. He had almost made it to the crack when a second _Hominem Revertio_ just missed him, then he squeezed into the crack.

"Get a search going!" The Ministry wizard said, and ran from the room. Darkon thought about squeezing out of the crack and running for it, but he was too old a hand for that. Better if he simply waited for a while, let the search die down, and then made his escape.

While he waited he had time to think. The use of the _Hominem Revertio_ spell meant his Animagus form was no longer a secret. He considered whether Borgin and Burke had sold him out, but against that was the fact they had warned him. That was the last thing they would have done if they sold him out. It didn't matter.

Darkon woke suddenly. While waiting in the crack in the wall he must have drifted off. All seemed quiet now, so he squeezed through the crack and moved cautiously through the darkness, sticking close to walls and using all the cover he could find, until he found his backpack. A little circling about established that no one was watching it. He transformed, dressed quickly, and ran down the alley to where the sharp crack of Apparation would not be heard.

In his cheap rented room, Darkon took stock. He had been through a nastily narrow shave, but he was free and clear for the moment. He needed a hiding place, one the Ministry knew nothing of. He would need a suitable cover story for the Death Eaters, but he had done that before and he was useful to them.

Darkon gathered up the money from Borgin and Burke, a few other essential possessions, stuffed them all into the backpack, opened up the cavity in the floorboards and pulled out the Portkey, to all appearance a chunk of wood. He spoke the activation phrase and was gone.

* * *

Andrew Greengrass held up the small vial with the Pensieve memory in it. "We got it. I was afraid we might have put too much insecticide in the crack, but it worked out all right in the end. If we'd used magic to stun him, he'd have known. Back to the Park, people. We're done here."

Andrew strode down the hall of Archley Park, straight to the Map Room, Ptolemy and Eloise stretching their legs to keep up. They showed their wands to the door, and Andrew went straight over to the High Priority map. The duty officer in the Map Room looked up and said, "Whatcher, Andy?"

"One for the High Priority map, Hatley. Resurrection." Andrew replied.

Andrew went through the process of putting someone on the map. As soon as he was done, a small scorpion marker appeared on the map, in London not far from the house where the decoy operation had been run.

"His rooms, I'll wager." Ptolemy said.

Andrew watched the map and didn't answer. It was pretty obvious. The marker corresponded to a small area of rooming houses at the tag end of Knockturn Alley.

Quite suddenly, the scorpion marker vanished from the map. It reappeared a few seconds later, in the Mendip Hills of Somerset. There were a lot of caves in that area. "We had to spook him just enough he'd run home to mother."

Andrew's smile turned tight and predatory. "You can run, you poisonous little bastard, but you can't hide."


	25. Chapter 25 Into The Breach

**Chapter 25 Into the Breach**

MMS garrison was a hive of activity. All the vehicle crews were going over their vehicles from turret to track. Tracks, especially. Tracks gave mobility over almost any terrain and across obstacles that would stop wheeled vehicles cold. A thrown or broken track, though, could stop the vehicle just as cold. The drill was that a recovery vehicle would pull the vehicle back to a repair point, where it would be fixed and put back in the fight. There was no guarantee that could be done in a narrow cave passage.

"Intelligence briefing in two hours." Stan the Man's voice rang through the echoing space of the vehicle bays. The pace accelerated a little, and ammunition loading began. Cannon ammunition, small arms ammunition, countermeasures loaded with Peruvian Instant Darkness powder. The snipers were doing their usual routine of checking every round. The more experienced of them hand loaded.

The briefing room was jam packed and buzzing with side conversations and speculation. Silence fell at once as Stan the Man, the DCO, and Sergeant Fletcher arrived on the small stage in the front. They were accompanied by a man in a bespoke set of Magical robes. There was a brief buzz of side conversation as the older hands recognized Beowulf.

The Met brief was first. It didn't take long, and it was good news for a change. The weather over the Mendip Hills was clear and sunny. There had been no rain for a week, so the going for the armoured vehicles was good and there was little if any risk of flooding inside the cave.

Beowulf went next, a flick of his wand unrolling a big Marauders Inc. map of an area in the hills. In the centre of it was a dotted trail with a scorpion marker at the end of it. It defined an area about half a mile across by the map scale. "MK-1 ran an operation to discover the physical whereabouts of the cave complex where the Death Eaters are hiding. We were able to do so."

He pointed at the map with his wand. "This individual is a low-level Death Eater, basically a hired wand. We spooked him just enough that he ran home to mother. We've been tracking his movements since, and he's been moving around freely within the cave complex, so we assess he hasn't been blown. The track you see here gives us some idea of the extent of the cave system."

He tapped the map again, and it zoomed back to show a larger area. "This whole area is riddled with caves. Some have been explored and mapped, some are hardly known, and some are only conjectured to exist. This cave system is in the third category, so we have no map information on the caves, and no way to know how deep they are. There was undoubtedly a physical entrance or entrances, but we have no way of knowing where they are or if they are still usable. The Death Eaters come and go by Portkey."

Beowulf stepped aside and gave place to Sergeant Fletcher. He tapped the map in turn, and an overlay of one area appeared, with photographs. "We were able to insert a recce probe into their Portkey stage, and get good imagery of this area."

He tapped another point at the map, and another photo sprang up. "Here be dragons. That's a high confidence assessment."

There were some chuckles at that. To Sergeant Fletcher, today being a Tuesday was a high confidence assessment, too.

"The area is not invisible or unmappable, so we were able to use non-Magical assets to get high-altitude imagery. As at four hours ago there was no indication of any above ground defensive measures such as broom patrols or dragons. Those assets would not detect magical defences such as wards."

"We've looked at technological methods of mapping this cave, but we've come up empty on that. Ground penetrating radar has depth limitations. There has been some work on doing it from orbit, but that's at the stage of boffins writing papers."

"The recommended method, therefore, is to drill in and insert a recce probe."

He flicked his wand, and an image appeared in front of the map. "This is an improved version of the PP-9 recce probe, which we have designated PP-9 and 3/4."

That got some more chuckles. They turned serious as Sergeant Fletcher continued. "The estimate is fifteen Death Eaters, possibly more. They will all have the Necklace Bomb curse on them. Taking them out at a distance is highly recommended. In addition, you should look sharp for suicide runs. At least some of them are likely to be ideologically committed, and if they have nothing to lose they might as well have company on the way out the door."

"The recommended entry point for the recce probe is here." Fletcher tapped a spot on the map.

"We know it's a good sized chamber." He traced on the map a string of scorpion markers. "We also know it's a less trafficked area. He was only there the once, unlike the other areas he was in. It might be used for storage, or simply disused."

He turned toward the audience, looking serious. "That does not rule out potential traps or defences."

The serious look was mirrored on the faces of the officers and men in the audience.

Major Lee turned to the map and tapped it with his wand. A whole new set of markings slid across the map. "Phase I. Reconnaissance. The Air Element will deploy first and conduct a threat search in the area. Covert, using Disillusionment. Check for wards, patrols, dragons and any signs of physical entrances."

Lieutenant Ashland took notes in his field notebook. He glanced around at the Air Element. "O Group on completion."

Major Lee turned his head to Sergeant Fletcher. "When we get the all clear from Air Element, the Intelligence Section will deploy for the recce probe insertion."

Lee turned his attention to Ashland. "If you run into something you can't handle, pull back and we go to Plan B."

He turned back to the audience. "Phase 2. Entry. Once we have a good site, we excavate an entrance for the vehicles. Z Troop will lead, deploy for fire support, X and Y Troops will follow."

"Phase 3. Assault. After that, fire and movement. We assault the complex and clear it. The new tactical doctrine is in effect. Use magic to minimize ammunition expenditure. Use _Silencio_ and light discipline until contact is made, after which all bets are off."

"We move in two hours. Good luck and good hunting."

Harry, Evan and Hermione arrived on the improvised Portkey stage, identified themselves to the guards, then looked around to see the layout. A small tent stood under an oak tree, with a sign, "CP". Evan led the way to the door.

The guard at the entrance grinned briefly. "Beowulf. Just like old times."

"Pebbles. That it is. The Man in?" Evan replied.

"That he is. All the players on the pitch." Pebbles waved them on in through the tent flap. Harry ducked in through the flap, smelling dust and canvas heated by the sun, hearing the sounds of purposeful activity and clipped businesslike conversation.

The CP was much larger inside than out. A large table held an array of comms runes, labelled with the names of the vehicles. The operators were ready, under the gimlet eye of their Sergeant.

Sergeant Fletcher was set up, with Marauder's Maps and the controls for PP-9 3/4. A large blank parchment was stretched on a frame next to it.

"Sirius!" Hermione said happily. Sirius was standing by the blank parchment, wand out and frowning in thought. He turned on hearing her voice.

"Harry, Hermione, Evan. Good to see you." He said, then turned back to what he was doing. Harry decided to leave chit-chat until later. Whatever the reigning genius of Marauders Inc. was doing was complex enough to tax even his skills.

The Man was in the centre of the Command Post, his tall figure in the centre where he could see everything.

"Sir Harry, Beowulf, Miss Granger. A long road it has been to get here, but today pays for all." He greeted them, his eyes never ceasing their sweep of the CP's hive of activity.

"Sir." Evan replied, his manner as if he was ready to salute.

"Not anymore, Beowulf." The Man replied.

"You'll always be Sir to me." Evan replied.

"Kind of you to say so." Major Lee's smile was brief but warm, then his look of command returned as he took a report from one of the comms rune operators.

"All Troops, report." He ordered, as a lull in the activity brought a tense quiet to the CP.

The Comms operators sent the order, and a drum beat of replies was summed up by the report from the DCO to the Man. "Ready, Sir."

"Commence." The Commander's order was the quiet statement of an iron judgement.

The large magic mirror above Sergeant Fletcher's station came to life to show a group of soldiers. They were hard to see under the Disillusionment spells, but they showed up much better when Sergeant Fletcher tapped his wand and it switched to infrared. "Recce probe active, sir."

Some of the soldiers were faced out in all directions with their weapons and wands ready. Two soldiers in the middle of the group moved their wands in an intricate pattern. _Diffinido Terebra Continuo. Wingardium Leviosa Continuo_.

Between the two wizards a circular hole appeared, growing deeper. The rock and soil excavated by the whirling blade of the Diffindo spell streamed up in a smooth arc to form a pile in a nearby depression. It was only three and a half minutes later by the big clocks in the CP when the report came over the rune. "Holed through."

The display went almost blank as PP-9 3/4 floated over the centre of the hole and down into it. PP-9 3/4 grounded on an irregular rock floor and began to move under its own magic. The display showed a big high-ceilinged chamber, totally dark in visible light. It was cluttered with obstacles both natural and man-made. Sergeant Fletcher operated the controls to bring it out from behind the spike of rock it had arrived behind and turn it in a slow complete circle, watching the screen narrowly and listening intently to the sound.

"Sensors show no evidence of any life forms, sir." A nod from the Man acknowledged the report.

"Mapping the chamber, sir. Stand by." Sergeant Fletcher said. Sirius was standing by the large blank sheet of parchment, a long list of magical symbols hanging in the air beside him. He cast *Tabula Creare*.

The list of magical symbols began running up and vanishing at the top to be replaced by others from the bottom.

"Link established." Sergeant Fletcher was watching his controls intently.

"Getting data. Render commencing." Sirius replied, his eyes flicking back and forth between the symbol display and the map itself.

Lines appeared on the big sheet of parchment. First was a small marker with a flag floating by it, "PP-9 3/4". A scale of distance in yards was next.

The display split into two, showing the outline of the cave from above and from the side. Sergeant Fletcher moved his wand, and a duplicate of the view from above appeared on the map of the area with the markers of all the MMS vehicles and soldiers. He pursed his lips in concentration, then moved, turned and zoomed the cave map in and out until they matched, then stood watching as the lines crawled across the maps.

"HOLDFAST. Immediate notice to move." The Man's quiet order was loud in the hush of the CP. It was passed on instantly by the comms operator. The military engineers who would make the breach into the cave would now instantly ready to do that.

Harry fidgeted, wishing there was something he could do, but held his silence, not wishing to distract anyone from their total concentration on their evidently complex technical tasks.

There was another tense silence while lines crawled across maps. Sergeant Fletcher broke it, pointing with his wand at the vertical display. "Sirius. Depth at this point, please."

Sirius flicked his wand and zoomed in on the part of the vertical display, then brought up a scale of distance in feet. "170 feet surface to cave floor, cave height at that point 57 feet."

"Copy that." Sergeant Fletcher put a scale on his map and looked back and forth between the maps.

"Sir, possible breach point. Small re-entrant, south side of the hill, tunnel length approximately 180 feet. Chamber height 57 feet at that point. Render is not, say again, not complete."

The Man was there in a half dozen long unhurried strides. His face might have been carved from marble for all the expression on it.

He stood silent and motionless for about thirty seconds, staring intently at the map. If he noticed that every eye in the CP was on him he gave no sign of it.

He reached up and tapped a comms rune on his shoulder, one so far unused. "HOLDFAST, SUNRAY Actual. Breach coordinates V335772, direction 027 true, breach depth 180 feet, move now. Expedite."

"SUNRAY Actual, HOLDFAST. Moving. Understand coordinates V335772, direction 027 true, breach depth 180 feet."

"How long?" Harry whispered to Evan, unable to keep quiet any longer.

"They were able to make 20 feet per minute in exercises. The Man told them to expedite, so they might even trim a little off that," Evan whispered back.

 _Nine minutes_. Harry looked up at the clock. Rationally he knew it was an incredibly short time for such a large job, but all he could think of was the possibility of some Death Eater having something to do in that chamber and raising the alarm. His eyes went over to the map with the scorpion marker on it. The marker was stationary in the main part of the cave complex where he spent most of his time.

An aching wait while the clock hands moved with glacial slowness was ended by Sergeant Fletcher's relieved voice. "Confirmed breach."

The grey image on the magic showed a semi-circular hole in the cave wall where seconds before there had been none.

The feed from PP-9 3/4 turned in a complete circle, with Sergeant Fletcher watching intently, giving particular attention to the ragged oval at the far side of the cavern. "No hostile activity."

"Assault force, transit breach. Order of march as briefed." The Man ordered.

The comms operators passed the order. A minute or two later Harry saw the armoured bow and cannon barrel of the first fighting vehicle through the tunnel. Others followed, and they spread out to either side of the tunnel exit.

"Good. Fire support is in position." Evan's voice held a qualified measure of relief, his attention fixed on the screen.

The fighting vehicles of the other two Troops entered and spread out, X Troop to the left and Y Troop to the right.

"The Force will advance." The Man ordered.

The vehicles of X and Y Troops advanced in eerie silence across the cavern floor, moving around obstacles. The dismounted troopers moved from cover to cover in tactical bounds, weapons ready for instant use.

As they moved further away, Harry could see less detail in the grainy infrared image, composed of shades of grey.

"What do we do now?" Harry said, fiddling nervously with his glasses.

"We wait." Hermione said.

"There has to be something we can do." Harry said irritably.

The reply came from Major Lee. "You have done all you can do, Sir Harry. The information and intelligence you gathered have brought us here, with the element of surprise on a battlefield of our choosing."

"I should be down there, not standing here with my thumb inserted." Evan's eyes never left the screen.

"You are, Beowulf." Major Lee's eyes were on the screens and maps, watching the progress of the MMS across the cavern.

At Evan's astonished look, he smiled briefly. "The tactical doctrine you designed and proved out is down there. The manual on fighting dragons that you wrote is in every vehicle."

The Man shook his head gently. "We plan, we prepare, we train, but there is always the unexpected."

A man's voice crackled from a voice rune across the CP, underlaid with the staccato of rifle fire and the boom of a _Bombarda._ "Contact. Wait. Out."


	26. Chapter 26 Close Action

**Chapter 26 Close Action**

ieutenant Jeremy Ashland had a good view from his broom hovering near the roof of the cave with the rest of the Air Element hovering with them. Z Troop was lined up on either side of the cave, cocked and primed for fire support with their cannon. The cave chamber was cluttered with all sorts of obstacles, any of which could have been cover for a Death Eater who had heard or seen the breach. Their first job was to do a sweep to make sure there were no Death Eaters in ambush.

 _Surprise is holding. So far._ He tapped his wand, making sure he had selected the Air Element's comms rune net, not the Command net, then took a deep breath and made sure his voice was calm and steady as it had to be.

"Sweep as briefed." He ordered. _Now I earn my pay. There are no easy jobs in MMS, and Air Element's a plum job._

That plum job had a price tag attached to it. Like any other recce unit in any military force in the world, they were the eyes of the force. They were lightly armed, relying on mobility and stealth, and the enemy's first care was always to blind those eyes if they could.

Hanging motionless against the cave ceiling under _Disillusionment_ and _Silencio_ , they were as near to undetectable as anyone could reasonably ask. Swooping down low enough to detect enemies under cover who they had to assume were also using those concealment measures meant giving up a good deal of that. The human eye was tuned by millenia of evolution to pick up on any movement.

 _*Supersensory Ocularis*_. Air Element was spread out in echelon, covering the width of the cave chamber and moving slowly to check each potential ambush in turn. The vehicles of X and Y Troops were also moving slowly under _Disillusionment_ and _Silencio_.

Ashland checked behind a rock spire and a fold in the rock wall and found both places of cover empty. They were nearly at the entrance to the chamber. That was a vital choke point. It was a place where an inferior force could make a stand, inflict delay and casualties out of all proportion to its numbers.

He floated slowly along next to the rock wall toward the entrance, scanning for threats. If they could take it and secure it before surprise was lost, they would be a long step toward taking down this terrorists' lair.

 _What's that?_ Jeremy saw a faint glow in the entrance, throwing a shadow that resolved itself into the shape of a man on foot. Likely more than one, by the way the shadow fell. He goosed his broom a little and readied his wand. If he could take them down quickly and quietly with a _Stupefy_ , then they might yet seize the choke point unopposed.

He tapped the Air Element comms rune with his wand and whispered, "Activity at the entrance."

It was likely enough that his people had already seen that and were moving to intercept, but it was better to be sure.

The glow emerged into the cave from the entrance and Jeremy could see it was three men, one of them holding up his wand, which was glowing with a _Lumos_ spell.

*Lumos Maxima*. The Death Eater holding up his wand cast again, and the light from it suddenly flashed incredibly brighter.

"What the Hell?" One of them shouted, drawing his wand and pointing it, not at Jeremy but at where one of his men was likely to be. Jeremy cast a _Stupefy_ at him, but the range was long and the three of them were scattering to cover.

"Engage!" Jeremy shouted, using _Sonorus_. The boom of a _Bombarda Maxima_ echoed through the cave. Jeremy saw with a flicker of relief that it had detonated against the cave roof, and so had missed whoever of his men it was cast at.

The spell was answered by automatic rifle fire from three places, and the troopers of the Air Element flicked into visibility, aiming wands and rifles down at the three Death Eaters. Jeremy had his own job to do. He flicked his wand to the Command net. "Contact. Wait. Out."

That was enough to tell the Commander what he needed to know. In the far future of a couple of minutes from now when this firefight was ended, he would be able to fill in more of the details.

The Death Eater who had cast the _Bombarda Maxima_ had taken a few seconds to do so before taking cover, and he paid for that as a storm of rifle fire chewed up him and the stone floor around him. He went down hard and the light from his wand snuffed out instantly. Instantly there was a blast of flame from where he had gone down that reached almost to the ceiling then slowly died away. A second tower of flame erupted right beside the first, flinging another harsh glare through the cave, and it too died away again.

Darkness fell again in the cave. _Balloon's gone up, for fair._ "Cannon. Call for fire. Three illumination rounds, spreading left."

The darkness endured for a handful of seconds, then there was a triple crack of cannon fire and three star-bright objects sprang into existence up against the roof of the chamber. Jeremy blinked hard and held up his hand to shade his eyes against the sudden glare of light from them.

Jeremy saw a flicker of movement as someone ran back toward the entrance, pursued by rifle fire. He made it back into the entrance. There was no third blast of Fiendfyre, so if the Death Eater was wounded it could not be seriously. The grinding of treads on the stone floor and the roar of engines hit his ears like a blow as the MMS flung concealment aside.

Clouds of dust and dirt exploded around the cave entrance as dismounted troopers sprinted toward the cave entrance. With surprise gone, speed was what mattered now. The soldiers of the MMS were using the tried and true tactics of fire and movement to achieve that speed and ensure that any Death Eaters at or near that entrance would be well motivated to keep their heads down.

 _The Beowulf Doctrine. Magic doesn't have an ammunition allowance._ Jeremy snapped on the Air Element's net, "Rifles. Overwatch."

The soldiers on the ground, moving from cover to cover for the assault, would need someone up high with a good field of view - and fire - to engage anyone with the hardihood to show himself to fight back under the storm of magic that had just hit them. That was their job.

Jeremy watched the entrance closely, looking for any flicker of movement as the dust and dirt of the *Bombarda*'s settled again. There was a hint of movement in the entrance, perhaps only a shadow cast by the harsh and pitiless illumination of the illumination rounds from the cannon, imbued with a powerful *Lumos Maxima* charm. Jeremy's men, and at least some of the troopers on the ground, saw it as well. They reacted instantly, and a storm of rifle fire fell on the entrance.

Jeremy waited tensely, but there was no third blast of Fiendfyre. Jeremy frowned, then shook his head. _Evil doesn't mean stupid._ It was quite possible the Death Eater had simply bugged out, as better men than he would have done without shame at facing such odds.

The lead elements of the ground assault reached the cave entrance, and Jeremy snapped, "Hold fire, say again hold fire." on the Air Element net. Friendly fire was an ever-present concern in any firefight, and doubly so in a hot dirty fight in a sack like this.

BOOM! BOOM! _Bombarda_ explosions thundered through the cavern, and dust and dirt erupted from the entrance. _Beowulf strikes again._ Normal non-Magical soldiers carried a strictly limited number of grenades, very useful in ensuring enemies and booby traps were neutralized. _Bombarda_ did that just as well, and had no ammo limits. Training mattered here, too. The soldiers of the MMS could use that spell with a measured precision that no ordinary wizard could even approach, which minimized the risk of bringing down a chunk of the cave roof on them.

"Close in. Prepare to transit breach." Jeremy and his men all knew the plan. The assault force would secure the breach, and as soon as they did Air Element would head through into the next chamber and recce it for threats. Jeremy didn't need to look at the map that MK-1 had brought them, showing the movements of the Death Eater they had tagged like a songbird. He had it in his memory. The wall between the two chambers was relatively thin, and the chamber beyond a large one. By the looks, the Death Eater had wandered around in the dark until he found the entrance, so they had a good idea of the shape of the wall in that area.

Jeremy watched as the soldiers at the entrance formed a line against the wall of the cave in the order they would go into the entrance, "the stack" as it was known. There was a momentary lull in the noise of battle while they did so.

It was broken by the boom of a _Bombarda_ , followed by a shout of _Diffindo Maxima, Diffindo Maxima_! Jeremy realized it didn't come from his side of the entrance. He watched as two thin slashes appeared in the stone over the entrance, and he had just time to think, _Evil doesn't mean gutless, either._

The leading soldiers in the stack fired into the entrance, but that didn't stop whoever on the other side was casting the spells, and more thin criss-cross slashes appeared in the stone of the wall above the tunnel. A voice he couldn't identify shouted, "Clear the breach! Clear the breach!"

The stack unraveled as the soldiers next to the wall realized the danger and pulled back. The collapse of the tunnel seemed to happen in slow motion, huge chunks of stone slowly collapsing down into the tunnel and out into the chamber itself, throwing out dust and debris until the whole heap of shattered stone ground slowly to a halt.

"Medic! Medic!" Not all of the soldiers in the stack had got away from the wall in time. The designated ambulance vehicle came up and slammed to a halt, and casualties started being loaded into it. It didn't have the traditional red cross on it, or any distinctive markings at all. That would just have made it a target for the Death Eaters.

 _No plan survives contact with the enemy. This one's dead. The Man will take it from here._ Jeremy hit the rune for the Command net and started his report to the Commander. He took a couple of minutes at that, compressing what he'd seen to the needed facts. When it was done and acknowledged, he glanced at his watch. The firefight and its aftermath had taken just 17 minutes. It only seemed like hours.

* * *

The Command Post was now mobile, in the Commander's vehicle. Stan the Man, his staff, and the leadership, including Jeremy, were gathered at the tunnel into the next chamber.

"HOLDFAST." and a brief nod to the pile of broken rock, put the spotlight on the Sergeant in charge of the Engineer detachment.

"The breach is filled with recent rubble, certainly unstable and difficult to remove. Clearing the way for the vehicles would take an hour, perhaps more."

The Engineer Sergeant pointed with his wand at the rock above the pile of rubble, showing zig-zag cracks and cuts from the Death Eater's Diffindo spells. "The rock above the breach is compromised, and might well have to be braced. That would take longer."

"Recommendation?" The Man looked up at the heap of fractured stone and the cracked and cut stone above it with narrowed eyes.

Jeremy could follow the Man's train of thought, and it wasn't a pleasant one. Hours to clear the breach and make it safe for the vehicles to transit. Hours for the Death Eaters to get their act together, hours for them to to set booby traps, prepare an ambush, or both.

"Recce and prep a site for a new breach. Take less time and it will give us a breach that's trustworthy," the Engineer Sergeant replied.

"Approved. Make it so. Expedite." The Man dismissed him with a gesture to get started on that urgent job, where every minute counted.

Jeremy felt a surge of relief. With luck, the Death Eaters would be focused on the original breach and would be caught on the back foot. Like the chicken in the joke, they would not know which way to point their peckers.

"Eyes. Be prepared to transit the breach and conduct a tactical recce." The Man ordered, turning his attention to Jeremy.

"Sir." Jeremy replied. _I have my nickname. Not much planning needed here._

He glanced up at the heap of broken rock as several chunks of rock rolled down to the floor.

"Sergeant Fletcher. Assessment as to the enemy's courses of action."

"Some of them may panic and try to run for it. Few, if any. The ones who are prone to panic are already dead, and any who do will be. They could conduct an orderly evacuation, taking Voldemort's body and what they need to reanimate it with them. That would likely take time to prepare. They could stand and fight. The most likely course of action is an evacuation of the leadership and the body of Voldemort. The expendable low level wands will be sent against us to buy time in all cases. The unknown is how close to being resurrected Voldemort is, and thus whether he would be a factor in the tactical situation."

The Man acknowledged Fletcher's statement with a brief nod, then turned to Harry. "Sir Harry, what have you for us?"

Sir Harry jerked his head at Beowulf, who flicked his wand to unroll a piece of parchment and hang it in the air. "Scorpion is in the main complex, milling about. He would be one of the wands sent against us once they get themselves organized. Apparently they haven't, yet."

Sir Harry weighed in. "There are several options for dealing with the known entrance. What do you want done?"

The Man paused for a few seconds, his eyes narrowed in thought. "A diversion. We want them to think we are coming at them by that route. It will also have the effect of cutting that off as a route for their evacuation."

Sir Harry paused for a few seconds. "We can do that. Right away?"

"On my order. It needs to be coordinated." The Man said at once.

Sir Harry nodded, pushed up the sleeve of his robe and tapped a comm rune. "Entry Team, this is Chief. THUNDERBALL, say again, THUNDERBALL. Make ready to deploy, deploy only on my order. Acknowledge."

The reply crackled back instantly. The Man turned to the Troop Commanders. "Assume an opposed entry, plan to me by the time the breach is ready."

The quiet in the cave was broken only by men writing in their field notebooks. "To your duties, dismissed."

* * *

The object on the platform resembled the big brother of PP 9 3/4, but the platform at the top did not hold cameras. The members of the Entry Team stood around the dais, checklists in magical fire hanging in the air. There were no soldiers among them this time. The MMS needed every wand in the field.

There was silence in the room after the bustle of preparation. Adrian Carbuncle flicked his wand at the voice rune on the platform. "Chief, this is Entry Team Lead. THUNDERBALL is ready, say again, THUNDERBALL is ready."

"Copy that." Sir Harry's voice was recognizable even over the voice rune link. "Stand by."

"THUNDERBALL, go! THUNDERBALL, go!" Sir Harry's voice crackled from the rune. Adrian raised his wand to start the planned sequence of events that would launch THUNDERBALL. He felt like the conductor of some madman's orchestra, doing his own part then cuing the others to do their in turn.

There were no _Silencio_ or _Disillusionment_ spells this time. That was not THUNDERBALL's purpose. Adrian raised his wand for the last act. " _Facere Omnia_!"

The Portkey activated and THUNDERBALL vanished.

Eyes and the Air Element were not in the air. They were well back in cover as Sergeant Beavertail, the Engineer Sergeant, completed the final preparations for the breach of the cave wall. He had picked a spot where the cave wall dimpled in and so the tunnel to be excavated was slightly shorter. There had been no nonsense about picking the site. There was neither time nor use for elaborate "we think that they think that we think" games.

Sergeant Beavertail's voice resounded through the cave, amplified by a powerful _Sonorus_ charm. "Fire in the hole!"

There was a tense pause while Jeremy counted the seconds. No form of detonation using electricity could even be considered, so it was back to doing it old school. The detonation train consisted of two kinds of fuse. Slow fuse was just that, to impose a delay so that everyone had plenty of time to ensure they were in cover. In the tense silence, Jeremy could hear the crackling as the fuse burned, then he put his hands over his ears, crouched down and waited.

The slow fuse hit the set of other fuses twisted together, each leading to a separate charge drilled into the stone wall of the cave. Quick fuse burned instantly, and Sergeant Beavertail's skill ensured that the shaped charges detonated at exactly the same time to a tiny fraction of a second.

The roar of the explosion was ear-shattering even for men who were in cover, ready and prepared. Jeremy felt the shock wave slam past him, a hard slap even though he was behind solid cover and the charges were shaped charges that directed almost all their force into breaking the rock to form a new tunnel into the next cave.

Jeremy counted five seconds, took his hands off his ears and stood up to see the results. He grinned savagely. There was a huge ragged hole in the cave wall, nearly clear. Anyone on the other side of that new tunnel would have had the twin impact of the shock wave from the explosion and the huge shotgun blast of rock fragments driven by the explosions.

Jeremy swung onto his broom and kicked off. "Air Element. Go! Go! Go!"

With his men behind him, Jeremy led the way into the cloud of dust and the unknown perils of the next cave.


	27. Chapter 27 Through the Breach

**Chapter 27 Through the Breach**

THUNDERBALL flicked into existence on the Portkey platform. It immediately rolled out into the main corridor and a cloud of Peruvian Instant Darkness powder billowed down the passage. A _Sonorus_ charm activated next, and and a recording started to play. It was a medley of sounds, starting with the grinding of treads against a stone floor, then men shouting commands and casting spells.

At the other end of the corridor a rising level of noise was coming from the dragon cage, angry hissing and the slithering as they realized something was happening. It took several minutes for the cloud of Instant Darkness powder to start to dissipate, but it was renewed by another cloud fired from a canister atop THUNDERBALL. The sounds of armoured vehicles and soldiers shouting were augmented by the boom of a Bombarda and the staccato of rifle fire.

There was an irregular firecracker string of loud cracks as stone struck stone within the tunnel. A half dozen large stone balls came ricocheting down the passage, moving irregularly like giant Quidditch Bludgers and smashing into the walls, ceiling and floor of the passage completely at random. They bounced on past THUNDERBALL and the Portkey platform, struck the end of the passage and began bouncing back the other way, cracking chunks of stone out of the walls of the corridor wherever they hit it. None of them hit THUNDERBALL, though there were two very near misses. The sound recording ran its course, and THUNDERBALL paused before the next enchantment executed.

If there was any ear in the corridor to hear, whatever other sounds might have come from THUNDERBALL would have been drowned out by the shattering impacts of the giant Bludgers on the walls of the corridor and on each other. It took nearly twenty minutes before the stone balls were no longer that, but broken shards on the floor of the tunnel. A direct hit would have destroyed THUNDERBALL, but its luck was in and its _Protego_ spells sufficed to keep it from being seriously damaged by flying splinters of rock.

THUNDERBALL fired another countermeasure, and Peruvian Instant Darkness powder made the tunnel dark to human or dragon sight once more. Another sound recording began to play, this one again of the treads of armoured vehicles. The orders were such as would have been given by the leaders of the survivors of an attack, evacuating casualties and rallying the rest. The sound of treads on stone began and grew louder. A hugely amplified human voice shouted, "SURRENDER! SURRENDER! THROW DOWN YOUR WANDS AND SURRENDER! IN HER MAJESTY'S NAME YOU ARE SUMMONED TO SURRENDER."

A wash of dragon fire blew down the corridor, blowing a hole in the cloud. Another countermeasure fired, and the cloud of Instant Darkness Powder once again became a sooty black impenetrable curtain. The sound recording continued to play, the sound of an armoured force on the advance growing louder and louder. That sound recording came to an end and was followed by another one, this one interspersing shouted commands with rifle fire and the earsplitting crack of cannon fire.

The grinding of steel on stone heralded the raising of the gate to the dragons den. The dragons in the cage, already foul-tempered from long imprisonment in a cramped space, were quick to squeeze through the open gateway and into the corridor, heading into the cloud of blinding powder searching for the prey the sounds inside the cloud made them think was there. At the same time as the dragon gate was raised, a huge crash of stone hitting stone announced that the side tunnel off the entrance tunnel had been blocked by a massive slab of rock.

Blundering around blindly in the pitch black tunnel, looking for the prey they could hear but not find, one of the dragons breathed fire blindly in the direction of the sounds and hit THUNDERBALL. The _Protego_ spells failed under that overwhelming assault and all of THUNDERBALL's remaining countermeasures fired at once. With THUNDERBALL reduced to a blackened ball of stone, the sounds instantly ceased.

The backwash of the blast of flame hit another of the dragons, which promptly retaliated in turn. That triggered a point-blank battle of fire and claw among the three dragons in the depths of the black cloud, the dragons groping to find each other and striking with fire and claw and tail at whatever they found. The combat was too intense to last long, and ten minutes later, as the cloud of Instant Darkness Powder began to clear, one battered and bleeding dragon, the largest of the three, was left amid the shattered wreckage in the corridor, still searching in vain for something, anything, to kill.

Movement in the shattered pieces of the stone Bludgers, their broken remnants still animated by the spell, drew blasts of flame from the enraged dragon. Pieces of the stone wall, already shattered and weakened by the impacts of the Bludgers, were further weakened by the intense heat of the dragon fire. They broke loose and fell into the corridor. The chain reaction of collapses started slowly, then went faster and faster. Ten minutes later the bleeding dying dragon was pinned amid the broken rocks filling what had been a corridor less than an hour ago.

* * *

Jeremy led his men through the ragged breach in the cave wall. On the other side of the breach there was a cloud of dust from the detonation of the shaped charges, totally blocking any visibility. Jeremy pulled up and slowed down, snapping hand signals to his men for them to do likewise. They topped out in a group, faced out in all directions, and cast Disillusionment on themselves.

The dust cloud cleared slowly. Jeremy heard the creaking and grinding of fighting vehicles moving forward, transiting the breach. As the dust cleared, Jeremy saw a group of human figures around where the original tunnel had been. They were now turned toward him, wands out and scattering to cover behind rocks from the tunnel.

Jeremy tensed to order a dive down onto the Death Eaters, but the attention of the Death Eaters stayed at ground level, drawn by the noise of the armoured fighting vehicles. Glancing back at the breach they had come through, he saw the lead vehicles of Z Troop were drawn up in a line with their cannon aimed.

 _You had your peckers pointed in the wrong direction._ Jeremy grinned wolfishly and tapped the comms rune. "Cannon. Call for fire. Three illumination rounds, spreading left."

The triple crack of cannon fire was followed by a blaze of light from three objects hanging below the cave roof. The Death Eaters, startled, stared up at the illumination rounds with their hands held up against the sudden glare of light.

" _Venalicium,_ " Nothing happened immediately after Jeremy's cast, and he tapped the comms rune.

"Cannon. Call for fire. Marker set. Target personnel. Fire for effect."

A thin needle of green light shot up from among the Death Eaters where they crouched behind rocks and waited for a target for their wands. CRA-A-ACK! CRA-A-ACK! CRA-A-ACK! The bursts of 30 mm cannon fire were so close together they were a single hammer of sound. A ripple of explosions ran across the area around the marker, clearly visible in the pitiless glare of the illumination rounds still hanging up next to the cave ceiling. A storm of shrapnel and stone fragments erupted across the whole area, punctuated by flares of _Fiendfyre_ exploding out of the cloud of dust and smoke. Jeremy counted quickly, and saw five.

It would be easy to believe that nothing would have been able to survive that storm of steel and high explosives. Jeremy hit the comms rune. "Cannon. Repeat."

Another storm of cannon fire slammed into the same area, and another flare of _Fiendfyre_ erupted.

"Cannon. Conducting BDA. Acknowledge. Over." Jeremy said.

"Copy. Understand Air Element conducting BDA." Cannon's voice was the one on the rune.

Having ensured against the threat of blue on blue, Jeremy snapped a hand signal and the Air Element swept down toward the target area, wands and rifles ready for instant use and Supersensory charms cast. They crisscrossed the area slowly, but found nothing. Jeremy topped out over the target area.

"Check for squirters," he ordered, his alertness unabated.

The rest of the Air Element dropped down low and swept around the target area, looking for any evidence that any Death Eaters with more brains than the others had up stick and run for it. A steady string of reports came up negative.

Jeremy tapped his wand for the command net. "Target destroyed. No squirters."

 _Not very fair, at all. Which means all concerned did it right. There are two causes of fair fights. Poor planning and insufficient intelligence._

Jeremy looked out across the cave where it faded into darkness beyond the pool of light from illumination rounds, waiting for the orders for the next phase of the operation.

The line of armoured vehicles swept slowly across the cavern in the harsh light of the illumination rounds, with the five man Air Element hovering above them watching for the least sign of a threat. Jeremy's mood remained grimly watchful. They had taken out the expendable rear guard, that was all.

"Eyes. Recce the far wall." The unmistakable voice of the Man crackled across the command net.

"Understand recce the far wall." Jeremy replied. He had been expecting something like this. They knew about one passage into this chamber from the scorpion's movements. It did not follow that was all of them.

Hand signals sent them sweeping ahead of the main force. Jeremy thought about calling an illumination shoot, but decided not to. There was enough light to see by, and there were very few illumination rounds. They were hard to make.

They swept along the far wall of the cave, with weapons and wands in readiness. "SUNRAY, this is EYES. Now at tunnel entrance. Negative enemy presence, negative other passages. Over."

"SUNRAY. Copy that. Hold in overwatch position."

"EYES, understand hold in overwatch position." Jeremy replied, and passed the order on by hand signals. They settled down to wait as the advance continued. He did not take it amiss that the advance was by tactical bounds, with the slow pace that dictated. His people had done an honest job, but no one was infallible.

When the main force reached the tunnel entrance, with Cannon's Scimitars aiming their cannon at the entrance, the command from the Man came across the net. "O Group, Command vehicle, now."

Jeremy gathered with the rest of the leadership at the Man's command vehicle. There were decisions to be made, and he didn't envy the Man any of them. The entrance to the main area of the cave complex, where the scorpion had spent most of his time, was too small for the vehicles and excavating it to be large enough would take time they could ill spare. Nor was there any guarantee that it opened up into a larger chamber.

Ordering the assault into an area they had little intelligence on was the quick option, but the risks there were high. Against that, it gave the terrorists as little time as possible to use a bolthole, if they had one.

The Man thought of something Jeremy hadn't. "Sergeant Fletcher, can we put PP-9 3/4 in?"

"Yes, Sir. High risk of losing it, though. They'll be on the alert. It would take us some time to set up for a full render of the area. Basic imagery, that we could do right away."

"Basic imagery will do. Losing it is an acceptable risk. Set up for that, forthwith." The Man ordered.

It was not long later that all was as ready as it could be. The stacks were set up and ready to go on either side of the tunnel entrance. PP-9 3/4 was ready to go, with the magic mirror in the command vehicle showing what its camera did.

As the probe rolled into the tunnel, at first the screen showed nothing but darkness, but then a dim glow showed ahead and grew brighter as the probe rolled on down the narrow passageway. As they watched, PP-9 3/4 arrived at a T junction, and did a complete circle. The passages to the left and right were both narrow with low ceilings, about enough for three people to walk abreast. The stone walls and floor were smooth.

The Man looked up at the scorpion map, then said, "Left."

Sergeant Fletcher sent it rolling down the left hand passageway in the flickering light of the magical flames at long intervals along the passage. The passage bent around to the right, and when PP-9 3/4 rolled around the corner it came face to face with a man. Evidently a wizard, he had a wand in his hand. He was roughly dressed, in a worn jacket and jeans, with the stump of a cigar clenched in his teeth and a cloth cap set askew atop his scarred unshaven face.

They watched as his face showed shock and alarm, then his wand came up and the image feed went blank.

"Lost contact, Sir." Sergeant Fletcher reported.

"Copy that. Dismounted assault, go, go, go." The Man ordered.


	28. Chapter 28 Hunting the Scorpion

**Chapter 28 Hunting the Scorpion**

"Back to rolling in the stack with the PBI." Corporal Hartlestone groused from his position in the stack right behind Jeremy. The Poor Bloody Infantry got around in a cramped noisy steel box, and walked the rest of the way. The Air Element had a much better deal. Jeremy could pick and choose from volunteers for the five places on the team.

Jeremy didn't bother saying anything. His attention was on the breach, and people dealt with the stress of waiting in their own ways. Grousing was just one of those, and noise discipline was one with Nineveh and Tyre.

"Dismounted assault. Go, Go, Go!" The stack began to roll. Jeremy and the Air Element were third in the stack. The first group had the left tunnel, the second the right hand one. They would back up the left or right group depending on who needed it, which was ultimately Jeremy's call. It would have been nice to have a detailed plan for taking down the rest of the complex. That idea had gone up in smoke along with PP 9 3/4.

The tunnel walls were smooth, worn that way by water in limestone. From somewhere up ahead, he heard a rattle of rifle fire, followed by the crackling roar of Fiendfyre.

 _Contact._ Jeremy tried to place where the sound of combat was coming from, but couldn't. The cave's acoustics were just too deceptive. They moved on up the tunnel, minding their footing on the damp floor with enough pebbles to trip you up if you weren't careful. A twisted ankle could put a man out of the fight just as thoroughly as Fiendfyre.

They made it to the T junction without incident, and Jeremy held up a hand to signal 'Stop', while he made the call as to which way they should go. There didn't seem to be any obvious choice, so he flipped a mental coin and went right. If they had just been a reserve, they could have hung out here waiting to be called on, but they weren't. Now the initial foothold had been established, the next phase of his orders came into effect. They had a job to do.

They moved down the tunnel, weapons ready, with the last man covering their rear, ready to cast a _Protego_ and engage any threat with his SA-80. The tunnel opened up into a good sized room, shaped like a bubble with an irregular floor covered with variously-sized smooth pebbles.

"Another leg-breaking do." Hartlestone observed. The X Troop section had arrived ahead of them, and were set up to hold the room against any counterattack by the Death Eaters. The two exits, one to the left and one to the right, were both covered by Minimi light machine gunners. The room was lit brightly. An object imbued with a _Lumos Maxima_ spell was stuck to the roof.

"Room clear?" Jeremy asked the big hard-faced man in charge at the entrance. Sergeant Crusher had proved out the concept of the Air Element, but had gone back to his old job when Jeremy had taken over.

"It's clear." Sergeant Crusher jerked his head under the helmet. "Lord only bloody knows what's down those rabbit holes, though."

Jeremy gathered his people to one side for a quick O Group. He took the Marauder's Map out of his leg pocket and unrolled it. He wished, once again, like every other soldier in MMS, they they could use Undetectable Extension charms to carry everything with zero weight. It had been trialed. The problem there was that sufficient damage to the container destroyed the charm, and you lost everything in the container into some magical limbo. You didn't get it back. Sufficient damage wasn't a lot by the standards of soldiers. You carried what you needed on your back and belt, just as soldiers had done all the way back to the Roman legions.

"All right, people, we got this job wished on us and we've got it to do." The map showed the location of the Scorpion and the location of them, and that was about all. He hadn't moved around very much in the last half hour or so. Jeremy was tasked with hunting the Scorpion and finding him. Sergeant Fletcher's assessment was that the Scorpion was useful enough to invited along, or tricky enough to invite himself along, on any evacuation. Finding him was a good shot at locating a bolt hole, if the villains had one.

Jeremy oriented the map to the chamber they were in as best he could, looked down at it and made his decision. "All right, we're going down the left hand tunnel. We'll do it quiet, under _Silencio_ and using _Supersensory Ultrarubrum_."

 _Supersensory Ultrarubrum_ was a new spell, rather tricky to use, that had come out of the experience of Operation Beowulf. It allowed you to see by infrared light, just like a dragon. Jeremy had pushed and argued to get his men to the front of the line for the training to use it. He was glad he'd taken the trouble, though it was also one of the reasons they'd had this particular job lumbered on them.

"Standard patrol formation. We take it slow. Point man has a _Protego_ up. Number two covers him with his rifle. If we spot hostiles, we engage only on my order. This is a recce. I'll be stopping at frequent intervals to check the map. We don't want that poisonous little bastard dropping down on one of us in his bug form."

Jeremy looked around at his men, and they all looked back at him with total agreement. Getting shot was one thing. You didn't last in the infantry if you hadn't come to terms with that thought. Getting poisoned from out of the dark was another whole level of worry.

He raised his voice. "Sergeant Crusher. We're going down the left hand tunnel. If we bite more than we can chew, then we may come back down that tunnel at the quickstep."

"Copy that. We've got Minimi's on both entrances. Clear the entrances as soon as you can and any pursuit will get lit up properly." Crusher's solid presence was as reassuring as it always was. So was the thought that the Minimi gunners could shred anything small enough to fit into that tunnel. The squad level light machine gun fired the same round as the SA-80, but a lot more of them at a much higher rate of fire.

They formed up in patrol order, Jeremy just behind the two point men. Spells all cast, they moved slowly along the tunnel, ghosting along under the cover of the spells. The tunnel was painted for them by the spell in shades of dark grey, showing the cold irregular stone walls. It curved back and forth and up and down as the water that had carved it had flowed.

Periodic checks of the Marauder's Map showed the Scorpion marker getting closer, though it was hard to judge how much of the change in direction was due to their own movement and how much to his. Jeremy had lost track of how far they had gone, though his men would be counting paces and would thereby have a good idea.

They came to a bend in the tunnel, and Jeremy stopped the patrol with a hand signal to check the map. He was fairly sure the map marker was moving away from them at an angle. It could mean the evacuation was starting, or it could mean the rats were looking for a way off the ship. Looking up, his attention went to the tunnel ahead as he stowed the map again. The tap on his shoulder from the second man behind the point called his attention to a faint glow of light, visible light, leaking around the corner. Jeremy gave a hand signal, and they moved on toward the light. It grew brighter as they moved toward the bend. It appeared stationary.

Weighing his options, Jeremy decided they came to all in or all out. If the light betokened a sentry, then they either took him out and lost surprise, or backed off and reported. The ideal option of taking out the sentry quietly wasn't on here. Whether he was dead or just unconscious, that would trigger the Fiendfyre. If, as now seemed likely, he was the flanker for an evacuation route, that would also blow away surprise. That was the likely purpose of having him here.

They moved further around the bend, and sure enough it was a Death Eater, his wand held high and glowing with a _Lumos Maxima_. He was alert, looking both ways down the passage. He was also in partial cover, behind a fold in the wall. Taking him out would be a tricky shot.

Jeremy activated the voice rune on his wrist. "Contact. Wait. Out."

He turned his head to the men behind him. "Marksman, engage."

The time it took for the man with the sniper rifle to edge to one side, take his sight, and wait for the Death Eater to put his head out and look toward them seemed longer than it was, but then the silence of the dark passage was shattered by the report of the .338 rifle, followed instantly by the roar of Fiendfyre. Jeremy had not needed to order his men to follow his own example to cancel Supersensory and shield their eyes against the glare.

"Engage at will." Jeremy snapped. This was no longer a recce.

They moved fast down the tunnel with a _Lumos Maxima_ object floating in front of them. The less time they gave any defenders, the less time they would have to get set. Meanwhile, Jeremy was talking to his wrist. "Engaged one hostile, advancing. Hostile possibly a flanker for an exfil route."

With the message acknowledged, he gave his attention back to the tactical situation, and none too soon. They came around another bend, and the tunnel floor slanted sharply down to a T junction with a much larger passage. It was occupied. He could see the glare of _Lumos Maxima_ , and the sources were moving.

"Shit!" The point man put his boot on a wet rock that turned under it, lost his footing and started sliding down the incline. The number two grabbed at him, but all that accomplished was to send him sliding down the slope as well.

Jeremy didn't even have time to curse mentally. "Go!"

The rest of them, Jeremy leading, flung themselves down the slope, sliding rather than trying to keep their feet, but on their backs with their weapons up and ready. They tumbled out into the middle of the junction, rolling to the prone position.

There were at least three light sources, and one of them was visible. He wore a wizard's robes, his wand up. The light source died, the wand came down, and a _Bombarda Maxima_ flew down the corridor. It flew over them, and detonated somewhere down the cave passage behind them.

A chorus of _Protego_ and the hammer of rifle fire drove the Death Eater to cover. Alas, there was no blast of Fiendfyre.

"Contact. Multiple hostiles, engaging. Estimate this is the exfil, say again we have found the exfil route." Jeremy snapped, then gave his attention to the needs of survival.

"All right, people, we've found the exfil route, and we're the cork in the bottle. We hold here. Mind you make every round pay."

"Corporal, distance." There would have been several of the patrol counting steps, but Corporal Hartlestone was the most accurate at that skill. Non-magical soldiers had been spoiled by GPS. MMS was back to doing it old school.

"One thousand two hundred fifty metres." Hartlestone reported, then squeezed off a rifle round at a flicker of movement by the tunnel wall.

"Twelve hundred fifty metres." Jeremy repeated back, to make sure.

At Hartlestone's confirming nod, he tapped the rune on his wrist. "We are twelve hundred fifty ..."

BOOM! A _Bombarda Maxima_ hit the tunnel wall a little in front of them, thrown by a wizard out of sight. "We are twelve hundred fifty metres down the tunnel, say again 1.2 klicks down the tunnel."

He waited tensely for the acknowledgement, then grinned savagely. "Contact report's out. We'll have people coming to join the party shortly."

Jeremy glanced up at the tunnel roof. It seemed solid enough. "Build a strong point."

A chorus of _Diffindo Maxima_ was followed by the smash of slabs of stone, cut out of the tunnel wall, hitting the floor in front of them. Jeremy surveyed the result. _Not perfect, but one Hell of a lot better than nothing._

Chunks of stone had broken off the end of one of the slabs, and there was a gap between the slabs instead of the ideal of them overlapping to give complete cover.

It would do, and now they could hold their position and wait. The clock was their friend, not the Death Eaters'.

A lull in the action fell, punctuated by the occasional rifle shot and two _Bombarda_ 's from the Death Eaters. Jeremy had time to pull out the Marauder's Map and unroll it on the floor beside him. The Scorpion was about five hundred metres or so down the tunnel, which it was a reasonable bet was the location of the main body with Voldemort's body and the high value targets.

Jeremy's head snapped up as he heard and saw the flash and roar of a Fiendfyre burst, then saw a dense cloud of dust come rolling down the tunnel toward them, no doubt pushed by a spell.

 _Bastards blew away one of their own. Fiendfyre in a limestone cave creates a cloud of quicklime dust. "Bubblehead_ , now!" He shouted.

Magic did solve a lot of problems. The Bubblehead Charm removed the requirement for the awkward bulk of a gas mask, and it was quicker to cast when every second counted.

Ghostly shapes in the dust cloud told Jeremy that the Death Eaters were trying a rush under the cover of the cloud of quicklime dust.

The roar of full automatic fire slammed down the passageway, Jeremy's rifle right along with the rest. Ammunition conservation might be a concern in the far future of thirty seconds or so, if they were still alive. Two more explosions of Fiendfyre made the dust cloud thicker, to the point where Jeremy could hardly see his hand in front of his face through the blurry surface of the Bubblehead charm.

His rifle magazine empty, Jeremy was about to reload when he heard boots coming toward him at the run. He dropped his rifle, snatched his sidearm out, stuck his hand out over the slab of rock he was sheltering behind and pumped off three rounds rapid in the blind.

The roar and furnace heat of the Fiendfyre told him one of the rounds had hit, and he grunted in agony as he snatched his arm back down into cover. He made himself look down at it, and grimaced at the blackened useless mess it had become, then barely repressed a scream as the pain hit him.

He was dimly aware that the dust cloud was settling, then the pain in his arm vanished. He looked around to see the mediwizard casting first aid spells. With the pain and shock held at bay, he could think more or less coherently again.

He looked around the position, and his face turned bleak. Not one of the rest of his men was unhurt, and the tattered dusty jacket over Corporal Hartlestone's prone figure said clearer than words that he was beyond any mediwizard's help.

The reports grained into them by training did nothing to lighten his bleak mood. They had burned through almost all of their rifle ammo, and Private Arkenstone's wand had been smashed. The slabs of rock they were in cover behind were eroded, cracked and broken by the fury of the Fiendfyre.

There wasn't much of a chance they could stand off another rush. Still, that attack had cost the Death Eaters, too. They had bought some time. Hopefully it would be enough.

 _God bloody knows it cost enough._ He'd been a bloody fool rushing in with his few men, he could see that now.

He heard a scuffle of sound up ahead where the Death Eaters were, and his face wrinkled into a snarl. _Guess it wasn't enough after all._

He was just raising his pistol after awkwardly drawing it wrong handed when he heard running footsteps behind him, and someone dropped down prone beside him.

His head snapped around, then he gave a huge sigh of relief. It was Sergeant Crusher.

"Busy time of it, I see. What have you got?" His gruff gravel bass sounded as good as a choir of angels to Jeremy.

"They blew up one of their own, then pushed the cloud of quicklime down on us to cover a rush. Don't know how many, couldn't see in the dust." Jeremy said mechanically.

"That's nasty. Good to know. You're relieved, we've got this." Crusher said, then raised his voice to a parade ground pitch.

"Medic, Fiendfyre burn case, stat. Minimi, set up on the left, Heavy Machine Gun on the right. Corporal, get to cutting rock and build a strong point fit to take Fiendfyre. Anyone sees a cloud of dust, you call 'Gas, Gas, Gas' and we all bubble up."

"Sergeant, I ..." Jeremy's attempt at a protest was cut off by someone casting _Mobilicorpus_ behind him.

Crusher got up to a kneeling posture. "You got it done, sir. If not for you they'd have got away on us. Now they're in the nutcracker. We'll give their balls a squeeze for you, depend on it."

Jeremy found himself floating face up back down the passage they'd come by, until he arrived at what had to be the Casualty Clearing Station.

A CMT sliced away the charred remains of his sleeve, checked his vitals and brushed the white dust off his face.

"What's that?" He said brusquely.

Jeremy coughed a couple of times, then gasped, "Quicklime."

The CMT raised his hand to get the doctor's attention while casting _Bubblehead Oxygenus_ with the other.

"Third degree Fiendfyre, 5% of body, right arm, quicklime inhalation." The CMT shouted across the crowded noisy space.

The reply was instant. "Stabilize and transport to St. Mungo's."

The CMT waved his wand, and cast _Anesthesia_ , and that was the last Jeremy remembered.


	29. Chapter 29 Closing the File

**Chapter 29 Closing the File**

Sir Harry Potter, Beowulf, and Major Lee walked down the tunnel toward where the battle had been fought. The smooth water worn limestone of the walls changed abruptly at the guard post. "Sirs, you'll need to cast a Bubblehead before you go any further. The whole area has quicklime dust all over."

"Quicklime?" Harry said, then caught himself. It had happened during Operation Beowulf, too, but it had not been nearly as much of a problem. The intense heat Fiendfyre on limestone made quicklime. They cast Bubblehead Charms, then walked down the tunnel into the large room. A strongpoint had been set up there, with machine guns covering the other two exits.

The officer in charge was a Lieutenant Harry didn't know, with a wisp of blond mustache and blue eyes under his helmet.

"Sir." His greeting was clearly directed at Major Lee.

"How goes it?" The Man replied.

"Quiet here so far. The word was passed that Scorpion isn't accounted for yet, though. When possible, it would be good to have that map. The left hand tunnel is the one you want, Sir, but you'll want to watch your step. The footing is a bit tricky." The Lieutenant remained alert with his head on a swivel during the conversation. The soldiers manning the strongpoint, composed of slabs of stone cut out of the wall, were also focused on their assigned arcs of fire.

The Lieutenant jerked his helmeted head toward a group of soldiers by the entrance. "Corporal. Escort duty."

The Corporal picked four men, and they all picked up their weapons, zipped up their armour vests, and headed over toward the three of them.

"Is that really necessary?" Harry said, feeling a little guilty. It seemed like imposing on men who had already had a long, hard and dangerous day.

The Lieutenant gave him a brief, wry half smile. "Humor me, sir. Having the Commander MMS and the Chief and Deputy Chief of MK-1 killed on my watch would be embarrassing."

Harry decided that humoring the Lieutenant wasn't a bad idea. They headed on down the tunnel, taking it slow with a Lumos Maxima object - it looked like a rock - floating along ahead of them and lighting the tunnel in harsh relief while the escorting soldiers led on and followed behind. Harry was glad he'd worn boots instead of shoes. As they had been warned, the footing was tricky, wet water worn pebbles that could turn under your foot very easily. They came to a curve in the tunnel where there was a big divot in the wall. The area was thick with quicklime dust.

"First contact. Death Eater sentry. More like a tripwire, really. No way to take him out quietly." The Man said as they walked by.

 _They use up their own men like tissue paper. They wanted to rule the Realm that way. What creates people like that?_

Harry's early life had been bad enough, but he knew Riddle's had been worse. _It is our choices that define us. I chose to protect the Realm, not destroy it._

Not far down the tunnel the passage took a sharp dip down to a T junction with another tunnel, a larger one. Harry was sure that in past times it had been a small waterfall. A rope had been rigged down one side to act as a guideline. They went down one by one, picking their way carefully. Harry stopped short when they came to the bottom, taking in the scene before him.

The floor was thick with white dust, which puffed up in small clouds as they walked up the tunnel toward the strong point. There were actually two of them. The one nearest them was relatively small and evidently thrown together very hastily. There were divots in the floor and walls just in front of it where Death Eaters had died. The two slabs of stone that had provided cover for the men behind it were half eaten away by Fiendfyre.

"The Air Element was conducting a recce patrol under the command of Lieutenant Ashland when they encountered the lead element of the Death Eaters with the body of Voldemort. They established a hasty defence and were able to delay the Death Eaters long enough for reinforcements to come up. They were six, all told. Corporal Hartlestone was killed in action, Private Jameston died in St. Mungo's, and the others were wounded. I have recommended all of them for medals." Major Lee's face and voice were sombre, controlled.

Harry looked around at the section of the tunnel and tried to imagine that brutal close-quarters fight in the depths of a cloud of poisonous dust. _Merlin's long flowing white beard, and I thought playing tag with a dragon was hard._

The second strongpoint was further down the tunnel, much more heavily built and heavily defended with both guns and men. They were passed through a narrow gap in the heavy slabs of stone. There had been fighting here, too. The front of the strongpoint was scorched and there were chunks of rock scattered around the stone floor, and more quicklime dust.

"At the end, the remaining Death Eaters panicked and tried to make a run for it, but they were too late. The passage was blocked in both directions. None of them survived." Major Lee spoke in the same sombre, controlled voice.

"The end of all this at last." Harry said, then looked around at the evidence of the battle that had been fought here. _At what cost? I started all this. These soldiers were here because of the information we - I - gathered. Could I have done better? Could I have saved their lives if I had been quicker, cleverer?_

Down the tunnel and around a bend there was an open area, a wide spot in the tunnel. In the centre of it there was a stretcher with, on it, the body of a man. He was covered only by a sheet of cloth. Even from a distance Harry knew that face, and it filled him with cold loathing. The head looked like something from a horror movie, split by red seams extending all across it. Standing over him was a clerkly looking man in dark robes.

"Sirs, if you'll stand back, please. I'll let you know when I've made safe." Harry recognized Adrian Carbuncle, and he was more than willing to obey that request. Major Lee and Evan were of the same mind, and they backed off and waited. Carbuncle was surrounded by sheets of writing hanging in the air, with symbols rolling up them.

After a few minutes, Carbuncle dispelled the sheets and sheathed his wand. "Made safe."

They walked over to stand over the body.

"What did you find?" Harry asked of Carbuncle.

"This is confirmed as the body of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Compared to his followers, there were few traps on him. He had a Portkey implanted on him, which has been disarmed and removed. His tattoo did not have Cruciatus imbued in it like the others. It was keyed to the other tattoos, but it was an activation charm."

"Well done, Mr. Carbuncle. It was very necessary to ensure we had the right body, and not some sort of fake or red herring." Harry looked down at Riddle's dead face.

Another thought came to him. "What could the Department of Mysteries learn from examining Riddle's body?" _At the end of the day, that decision comes to me. I can't just whip out my wand, though._ Harry was dead sure that Croaker was going to want to go over that body. He was going to weigh that risk very carefully before he acceded to any such request.

"Really, Sir Harry, the effects of the Resurrection Stone and the Elixir of Life. They were, I'm sure, used on Riddle rather extensively. I'm not a mediwizard, but there was evidence of healing, mostly in the head." He pointed his wand at the red seams across Riddle's head, looking like the seams on Frankenstein's monster.

"Thank you, Mr. Carbuncle. Did you find anything else?" Harry asked.

"Yes, I did, Sir Harry." He picked up a small box from the side of the platform, such as might hold a ring or a piece of jewelry. "The container had a Fiendfyre trap on it. That trap would have been triggered if the container had been removed from a certain, very short distance, from the body of Voldemort. It would also have been triggered by any attempt to remove the contents. It has been made safe."

He tapped the box with his wand, and it opened up. "This is the Resurrection Stone."

Harry looked down at the small black stone, that had likely cost many more lives than it had ever saved. _What surprises are in you? It is a fundamental principle of magic that the dead cannot be brought back to life, and from all we have seen the Stone breaks that principle, or appears to. The first law of magic. Tamper with the deepest mysteries — the source of life, the essence of self — only if prepared for consequences of the most extreme and dangerous kind. What power does that Stone hold, and what price does using it carry?_

Carbuncle tapped his wand again, the box closed, and he picked it up and handed it to Harry. "Let these witnesses verify that I have transferred the Resurrection Stone to the safekeeping of the Chief of MK-1."

Harry took the small box, and put it in his pocket. Carbuncle looked as if he was glad to be rid of it, and Major Lee and Evan made no remark at all, as if that was normal and expected. _Immortality in my pocket, and everyone just trusts that I will do what is right with it._

They walked on down the tunnel, the alertness of the soldiers leading and following them unabated. It was a few minutes walk before they emerged into a chamber, about fifty feet or so across. There was evidence that people had been living there for quite a time, though not in much luxury. Discarded food and water containers, cots for sleeping. Up against one of the walls there was what looked like a laboratory of some sort, with equipment both non-Magical and Magical that Harry could not make head or tail of.

Two soldiers were on guard, faced out away from the equipment and well clear of it. The equipment surrounded a clear area, which Harry was in no doubt had been where Voldemort's body had lain while the procedures to resurrect him had been performed. Some of the equipment, made of glass, was broken and a cabinet, at shoulder level, was open with one of its doors hanging by one hinge.

Major Lee pointed at the cabinet. "A search was conducted to see if any of the Elixir of Life was left. None was found. If any had been, it would have been used on our casualties. All the evidence suggests that one of the Death Eaters took it and ran for it. It would have been destroyed along with him."

Harry was not disposed to argue with that conclusion. As far as who might have owned it if it had been found, he would have made exactly the same decision as Major Lee. Nicholas Flamel had been left with the means to make more of the Elixir. That ended any obligation to him as far as Harry was concerned.

"Mr. Carbuncle." Harry said, still looking at the laboratory equipment.

"Sir Harry." Carbuncle had been sitting on one of the folding chairs the Death Eaters had left behind, taking what Harry was sure was a well deserved break. He got up and walked over to where they stood, looking at the laboratory.

"Would it be possible to make this safe?" Harry pointed at the laboratory equipment.

"Perhaps, Sir Harry. There would be significant risk, and it would take time. Trying to move it before it was made safe, by any means ... I would recommend against that very strongly indeed." Carbuncle looked dubious.

"I can tell you that Rookwood, and perhaps others, used very dark magic in addition to the Stone and the Elixir." He added.

"Thank you, Mr. Carbuncle." Harry said. Carbuncle nodded and went back to his chair.

"Major, when you are clearing out this area, please ensure that equipment, all of it, is destroyed, thoroughly, with Fiendfyre. I do not see any gain here that is worth the risk." Harry said.

Evan broke his silence for the first time. "The Department of Mysteries isn't going to like that."

"They can address their complaints to me. There's been entirely too much of dangerous magic lying around loose. They know it's possible, and that's half the battle with anything. They can settle for that." Harry said.

"What about Voldemort's body?" Major Lee asked.

"The same. Ensure there are witnesses and records. That man, dead or alive, is a threat to the Realm, and I'm going to remove it, once and for all, and make sure it is known to have been done." Harry said.

It was just two hours from the time when Major Lee gave the order to when an entire group of people was standing around Voldemort's body at a safe distance.

Major Lee looked long at the body, then turned to Harry. "By all odds, Sir Harry, you have by far the longest history with this ... thing. Would you like to do the honours?"

Harry, too, had been looking at the body, thinking about the cost of getting them all to this moment. "Yes, I would. Thank you."

Harry bared his teeth, raised his wand, and shouted _Fiendfyre_!

* * *

"This meeting of the Select Oversight Committee of the Wizengamot is now in session." Minister Bones stated.

Harry was seated at the end of the table, with the half dozen Members of the Wizengamot looking down it at him. "Has the Oath of Secrecy been administered to all participants in this meeting?"

"Yes, it has." Minister Bones' voice left no room for doubt. That Oath of Secrecy was tied directly to the ancient magic of the Realm, just like the Oath of Fealty to the Sovereign.

The name plate of the third person down from Harry's end of the table said "Eliza Brightwand". She was a green haired woman, about middle age for a witch. "I hardly think such extreme measures of secrecy are needed, Mr. Potter. We are all trustworthy and honorable persons."

"That is Sir Harry Potter, if you please, Mrs. Brightwand. The information you will receive is classified ARCANE, and for good reason. I am taking no chances with the safety of the Realm."

Results were one thing. There would be a press release to tell the wizarding world that the threat of Voldemort was done for, finally and completely, at long last. The means by which those results had been achieved would be needed for a very long time, and the fewer people who knew about them the more effective they would be.

Harry looked down at the reports in front of him on the table. Ordinary sheaves of parchment. The amount of sweat and deadly risk and bloodshed they represented was beyond anything Brightwand could imagine.

"It is my duty to report to this Committee that the Resurrection File is now closed. The body of Voldemort was found and destroyed. The group of Death Eaters who were trying to bring him back to life using the Resurrection Stone and the Elixir of life are dead, except for one, who will be spending the rest of his life in Azkaban."

Harry spoke for about ten minutes, telling the story of all the effort by the people from the agencies who had come together on this search, and ending with the destruction of Voldemort's body and the equipment the Death Eaters had used to try to bring him back to life.

The Members of the Committee were still digesting all they had heard. Minister Bones was the first to speak. "What became of the Resurrection Stone, Sir Harry?"

"It is being held in safekeeping at MK-1 Headquarters, Minister." Harry replied evenly.

"Surely it would be of great use at St. Mungo's?" Brightwand said.

"Mrs. Brightwand, I will remind you of Waffling's commentary on the First Law of Magic. 'Tamper with the deepest mysteries — the source of life, the essence of self — only if prepared for consequences of the most extreme and dangerous kind.' Little is understood of this artifact, and the history of it does not provide much assurance that the price of using it is worth it. That is my decision, and it is final." Harry's tone reflected his mood.

Brightwand looked as if she wanted to argue further, but she fell silent under Minister Bones' hard look.

"Is there any of the Elixir of Life left?" Jonas Oldacre was a wizened man, old even for a wizard.

"No. The Death Eaters stole all of the stock that Nicholas Flamel had, and what was not used on Voldemort was destroyed during the assault on the Death Eaters' lair." Harry said.

"Are you certain of that?" Oldacre's voice quavered a little, like someone clinging to hope.

"Yes. As to whether more can be made, the Department of Mysteries has what I know of the matter, and they will be responsible for negotiating with Mr. Flamel to gain more information on that subject. The process, as I have told you, is not easy, quick or simple." Harry said.

"What was the fate of the Scorpion?" Minister Bones asked.

"As best we have been able to determine, he died during the assault. He vanished off the Marauder's Map at that time, and he is currently nowhere in Britain. We have, however, passed that file to MLE, and we will alert them should he show up in Britain." Harry said.

"But how can you be _certain_?" Brightwand asked worriedly.

Harry looked down the table at her over his glasses. "Certainty is very hard to come by, Mrs. Brightwand. We do the best we can."

There was a knock on the door of the committee room, and Evan came in. He walked straight over to Harry and handed him a folded sheet of parchment. He leaned over and whispered in Harry's ear, "From the Chief of MI-6."

Harry opened the letter and read it. He frowned, and folded it again, then looked up at the members of the Committee, who were all looking at him with expressions of intense curiosity. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Committee, thank you for your time. I have business that cannot wait, so I will ask you to excuse me."

He got up and left, with Evan by his side. As he went out the door, he heard Minister Bones say, "This meeting of the Oversight Committee stands adjourned.", overriding other voices that wanted to ask more questions.

As they strode down the hall, Harry began thinking through what was needed. "Evan, I'll need a meeting of the Intelligence Chiefs. Tell Croaker we may need support. Put a requirement in to Analysis for a complete search."

"The requirement is already in work, Chief. I've alerted Investigations, and we can put together a field team at short notice if needed. I gave the Man a heads-up, too."

"Good. Well, the Realm still needs defending. Let's get on with it."


End file.
